


Sanctuary

by EloquentSavage



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Laura Hale, Alive Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, Alternate Universe, BAMF Erica, Epilepsy Warning, Erica-centric, F/M, M/M, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, Wolf Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 12:30:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 89,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4221798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EloquentSavage/pseuds/EloquentSavage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Beacon Hills there's a wolf sanctuary managed by Chris Argent and owned by the Hales. Most of the Hales are gone, died in a fire set by Chris's sister. What's left of the Hale family set up the Hale foundation and opened the wolf sanctuary not long after the fire. The Sheriff's weird, outcast kid Stiles gets a job there because his dad and Chris are good friends and Stiles doesn't know what else to do with his life. No one knows a lot about the Hale's anymore, but the wolf sanctuary is a part of Beacon Hills daily life now. Everyone goes there on school field trips and learns about the wolves. It doesn't seem that interesting or mysterious, until Stiles starts working there. Then he meets the people, and the wolves and starts to wonder how he stayed away for so many years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If You Listen, I'll Love You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to finish posting 6/27, but there's still some editing left to do. I'll finish posting the final four chapters 6/28. Hold tight! It's already finished, just needs some clean up.

[Tumblr Post](http://xkxdx.tumblr.com/post/122619808990)  


“Hey, dad, I’m about to go in. I’m nervous.... God, I wish you would have answered your phone. I’m going to be terrible at this job, or be eaten alive. Thank you for helping me get it though. I love you.... Don’t eat the french fries.” 

Stiles added that last part more as more of a punishment for being too busy to answer his phone than actual concern about his dad eating fries. His dad’s cholesterol was under 140, finally. He was taking great care of himself now that he was dating Melissa. That burned a little after years of babysitting his dad's diet, but Stiles was just a kid, he only had a couple ways of laying the hurt on to get his dad to do what he wanted. Melissa definitely had a lot more options in that department. 

“Okay, go in, say hello to your co-workers. Be congenial,” Stiles said to himself. 

A high cyclone fence enclosed the entire sanctuary. The wide access road between the inner and outer fence kept people who came to visit from being able to see the wolves very well from the road or the parking lot, but Stiles spotted one sitting on a rock near the inner fence. It was facing him with it’s head cocked to the side, like dogs did when they were trying to figure you out. 

“Wave to the wolves!” Stiles said to himself. He waved frantically, smiling wide and fake, then rolled his eyes at his own overblown dramatics. Training as a tour guide was the only potentially devastating part of the job as far as he was concerned, but it would be a while before he had to do it on his own. “Wolves don’t like waving, because of reasons,” he said in his best radio worthy, tour guide voice. He laughed at his own joke, attempting to make light of his anxiety. 

It was ironic that he was going to work in a place where they gave tours of animals in cages, considering how vehemently he had protested school field trips to the San Diego Zoo, but this place was different. The wolves had acres of space all to themselves. They roamed free and didn’t have interaction with people unless they wanted to. They chose to because they liked the humans that cared for them. Most of the wolves were displaced pets or injured animals that couldn’t go back out in the wild. They had to be cared for somewhat, but they were also encouraged to be as wolf-like as possible. 

Such an awesome, chill job would not come along again in his lifetime, Stiles was sure of it. He could not fuck this up. The most complicated, terrifying part would be helping out with feeding time, but the rest was probably going to be cake. It was interesting, and it would be a fucking blast, especially if his co-workers were half as awesome as Chris always said they were. Chris was a dirty, no good exaggerator who liked to sell people great big fish stories, but he wouldn’t give a place he worked praise when it didn’t deserve it. He was too proud of the wolf sanctuary to do something like that. 

Tall fences were depressing, like prison fence. This one even more so because it caged in the beautiful black wolf across the access road. It watched him as he wrapped his fingers through the thick wire diamonds and leaned into the fence. “Hey bro, you’re the big guy huh? I heard about you,” Stiles said to the large wolf. It dipped it’s head and watched Stiles through the wire, like it was checking him out. “They said you were kind of a pain in the ass.” Stiles sighed, wondering if the wolf could sense things like Chris said they could. Stiles was feeling the need to commiserate acutely. “So am I,” he admitted. 

“Lost my last gig because I wasn’t paying close enough attention to the fucking register and some asshole kid stole the till. Job before that I lost because the manager read some of my poetry online and said I bitched about work so much I needed another job. One that suited my interests better. She was kind of a bitch. I don't think she liked that I said so in the poem she read actually,” he sighed and shook his head at his own stupidity. “Jesus, I’m already talking to the wolves.” Stiles rested his forehead against the fence as he talked. “Try not to be a pain in the ass for me and I’ll sneak you treats, okay? I need to keep this job or I’ll have to ditch the rest of my gap year and go to college, and I am not ready for that yet.” 

The wolf stared at him, unmoving. It didn’t even blink or shuffle impatiently as he talked to it. The silence and stillness was unnerving, like the wolf was deciding if he was people or prey. 

“Yup, good talk bro, thanks,” Stiles turned and waved to the black wolf, unwilling to psyche himself out in the first five minutes. He couldn’t afford to be afraid of the wolves. Stiles almost jumped out of his skin when the wolf suddenly jumped off the rock and landed silently on the ground, pacing him as he headed up to the office. He stopped right before he lost sight of it and peered through the fence again. “See you in a few,” he said, glancing back as he walked away. The wolf was a silent, dark silhouette, but maybe it was listening to the tone of his voice and knew Stiles was friendly now. Hopefully that counted for something. 

The office was pure insanity, which Stiles could work with and respect. Wolf art from school kids all around the world was taped to the walls. Some of it looked like it was made by adults, or really talented kids. There were a few framed pieces from famous people, copies of the originals the Hale foundation auctioned off to pay for the protection of wolves in California. Stiles knew that much from tales Chris told of how much money they made. Desks were covered in paperwork and framed photos. Laptops served as digital photo frames, slideshow screensavers telling the stories of each employee, and the wolves. Everything revolved around the wolves. 

Seeing it from a new perspective, not as a school kid visiting, but as an employee who would be making this his new home away from home, It was beautiful. It was easily the best place he had ever worked, and he wasn’t working the shitty graveyard shift that was terrifying and lonely like Chris offered him before. It was training to do the real jobs, all of them. Chris was willing to let him try because Stiles said the right things and acted like an adult about working for him, finally. 

“Stiles! I was afraid you’d given up on us,” Chris laughed, getting up from his desk to usher Stiles in the door the rest of the way. 

“Sorry I’m late, the big guy was stalking me out by the fence. I had to say hi,” Stiles explained, leaving out the part where he had an entire, one sided conversation with the wolf. 

“Sage, really?” Chris looked surprised. A tall, formidable woman named Erica jumped up from her desk and went to the window. “Is he okay?” Chris asked, joining Erica to look for Sage. 

Stiles forgot the wolf’s name was Sage even though he had heard Chris talk about him a dozen times at least. 

“He looks fine, and I feel fine,” Erica said as she held her hand up like she was waving to Sage. 

The exchange seemed more than a little odd, but Stiles kept his mouth shut. 

“Why don't you skip feeding today, just in case. Stiles and I will be fine.” Chris gave Erica’s shoulder a friendly squeeze. She nodded and looked back out the window. Chris peered at Sage one more time then turned back to Stiles. “C’mon, I’ll show you the top secret stuff you didn't get to see during your interview.” Chris gestured and Stiles followed. 

They went through the file room into the small vet center and the holding kennels for sick animals, then outside to the big garage. They stopping in front of a long table and a short row of refrigerators and freezers where the food was kept. Stiles had seen the garage just once when his dad had brought in a donation of new oil pans the wolves used as food dishes. The deputies had fulfilled the sanctuaries wishlist for Christmas that year and that was his dad’s donation to the cause. Being the Sheriff, and Chris’s best friend, he was allowed to go back and drop them off because Chris was busy making food at the time. Stiles didn’t remember it well because it was years ago. 

“Now for the fun stuff, do you know how to sharpen knives?” Chris asked. 

“No,” Stiles admitted, but he smiled at Chris’s enthusiasm. Chris was an avid hunter, he was excited about weird stuff like that. “Here, I’ll show you. It’s monotonous work and it’ll give me a minute to explain what you saw in there just in case it becomes an issue soon.” Chris pulled down a hanging rack of tools and knives that looked positively medieval. “Erica has epilepsy, do you know what that is?” Chris asked. 

“Yeah, that means she had seizures right?” Stiles asked, not knowing much more about it that that. He was glad now he kept his mouth shut before. It wasn’t like him to censor himself, but maybe it was time for new habits.

“Yes, they’re rare for Erica, but serious. She has a device implanted under the skin on her chest, right about here,” Chris tapped his chest a few inches under his clavicle. “It’s an electrical nerve stimulator that keeps her seizures on check pretty well. We have a hand out we give new people, but basically if she has a seizure and falls, hits her head or chest, you might have to call 911. She feels them coming on though, so that’s never been an issue.” 

“Alright,” Stiles nodded. Chris was preparing him so he wouldn’t be surprised if it happened. “It doesn't happen often though?” Stiles asked, watching Chris’s hands closely as he sharpened a knife on a whetstone. Stiles learned by watching, Chris remembered that. 

“No, and every time it has happened Sage finds her and makes a bunch of noise. The first time he did it he scared the shit out of all of us, then Erica was on the floor. He actually distracted her so much she missed the warning. She says it’s a metal taste in her mouth just a few seconds before it happens.” Chris held up the knife to show Stiles, then flipped it and worked on the other side. “She has this magnet she uses to activate the implant. It lessens the after effects of the seizure. It’s best if she can use it before a seizure happens, but in case she doesn’t get to it, you just run it over the spot a couple times. It’s neon pink, about business card sized and in her left pants pocket usually.” 

“How bad is it? I mean, I’ve never seen anything like that before. I don’t want to be the asshole that runs screaming to call the paramedics because I think she’s dying,” Stiles said, picking up a knife and the other whetstone, ready to try his hand at sharpening. 

“It’s bad for about a minute, maybe less. She jerks around, sometimes makes some noise, but she get’s herself on the ground usually. If you just stand back and do nothing, she’ll be fine usually. She’s out of it for a few minutes, like passed out. Then she’s groggy for another fifteen. It only happens at work every couple months, maybe,” Chris explained. “She feels like shit for a while afterward. Don’t be surprised if you get called in at the last minute to cover for her since you’re the new guy.” Chris smiled like it was some kind of hazing, but Stiles would happily cover for something like that. 

“At my last job I was coming in at the last minute to cover for obnoxious assholes with hangovers. You guys are solid, you need my help, I’m here, no questions asked,” Stiles promised as he mimicked the way Chris moved the knife blade over the stone. 

“See, that’s what I told your dad. Not that he blames you for losing the last job, but... “ Chris paused thoughtfully, realizing he had treaded on sensitive territory, but he was his dad’s best friend. He knew everything, just like Scott did. 

“He wants me to be adaptable, to conform to expectations because thats what you do to keep a job,” Stiles lowered his voice and gave it an intentionally insistent edge, mocking his father's opinion on the subject. 

“He doesn’t get it because he never had shit jobs like working the register at a convenience store. He thinks he knows, but he always worked for friends and family until he was out of the academy. Then he worked for the Sheriff’s department. The actual jobs may have been shit, like when we decided to buck hay all summer for Cruz farms.” Chris laughed remembering the job. “We got fucking ripped. We both looked great for senior year, but it was miserable work. Cruz was a friend of my dad’s though. He let us drink beer at the end of the day and have parties in the empty fields at night, as long as we cleaned up. That’s how he met your mother and fell madly in love,” Chris teased. 

“I remember the whole, disgusting story,” Stiles smiled. 

When he was a kid he liked to pretend it grossed him out, but he felt lucky his parents loved each other so much. They met at what his mom called a ‘make-out party’ and pretty much never stopped. Scott’s parents barely tolerated each other, then got divorced. Stiles had seen the other side close up. His parents loved each other fiercely, right to the end. 

“It was a shitty job, but the perks were great, obviously. Your mom was the best. I was so jealous, until I met Victoria.” Chris had never reminisced like this in front of him, but Stiles had never had a conversation with Chris without his dad being there. 

“Didn’t she show up at school your senior year?” Stiles asked, handing his sharpened knife to Chris for inspection. 

“Two weeks before, actually. She was school shopping at place in the mall where your mom worked. She came in alone and your mom got her her talking, then somehow got her to agree to come out for the last party before school started.” Chris turned the knife over in his hands and gave an approving nod, then handed him another one. 

“I had no idea my mom played matchmaker for you guys, that’s kind of cool,” Stiles laughed. Stiles imagined it probably wasn't hard for his mom, she was outgoing and everyone loved her. 

“Oh, you might think so, but no. It didn't get ‘cool’ ‘til about halfway through the school year. Victoria hated me. I was so ridiculously smitten with this bad ass, hard mouthed, New York chick. She had a mohawk Stiles. Here, in Beacon Hills,” Chris laughed. “She thought I was soft, and annoying. It was totally devastating,” Chris shook his head, looking like it still hurt a little even though he was smiling. “I had to take archery just to have one class with her because she was so much smarter than me. I was such an asshole. I thought I could win her over, but every time I talked to her she ripped me a new one for being a misogynistic apologist jerk. I had to actually read shit and evolve as a person to get her to talk to me. It was harrowing, but worth it.” Chris grinned, selling the sentiment. 

“I guess my dad did have it kind easy, huh?” Stiles already loved this job. If he had known long, meandering tales involving his mother were going to happen, he would have begged to work here years ago. 

“Your dad had it easy with your mom because he’s a good guy. He was always keeping me out of trouble, and I was always getting him in it. I might have been jealous of your mom for a while, but she made your dad happy. That’s all I ever cared about.” Chris shrugged and pulled down a pair of long, scary looking scissors that were probably used for cutting meats. “It’s a bitch and a half to live up to the legend though. It would be helpful if he had more flaws than bad cholesterol,” Chris smiled, but the commiseration was real. Of course, Chris of all people would understand what it was like to live up to the infamously perfect Sheriff John Stilinski. Smart, handsome, and father to all. 

It took a moment for Stiles to realize Chris had said he was jealous of his mom, not jealous of which one of them she chose. Being jealous of her meant something much different. He wondered if Chris meant it for real, or if he was talking as a friend who didn't want to give up time with his best friend. Either way, Stiles understood. He loved Scott like a brother, but when Allison came back from boarding school last year, Scott suddenly fell off the face of the planet. Stiles was pissed. Not jealous, but pissed. 

The way Chris cursed and talked like a kid was particularly refreshing. Stiles wondered if Chris held himself back around Stiles before, for John’s benefit, or if he was just trying to build a more equal relationship with Stiles. He seemed like he was being himself, laughing and talking like they were old friends. Maybe Chris didn't think about it, maybe he was one of those people that acted differently depending on who you were, but didn't really know they were doing it. It didn’t matter though, Stiles liked this Chris. This Chris was going to be the best boss ever. 

“Okay, they're all sharp. Now we get to hack shit to pieces. This is the really fun part,” Chris smiled, the gleam in his eye was a bit disconcerting considering what he was so excited over. 

The wolves ate mostly donated deer, elk, goats, cow, buffalo. Whatever came in and passed inspection they froze and doled out over the year. At first giant, half thawed hunks of elk looked and smelled disgusting, but after an hour of chopping, weighing, and filling up the repurposed oil pans with hunks of meat and bone, it was kind of fun. At the end Chris got a big salmon out of the refrigerator and chopped off the head and tail before throwing it in the heaviest pan. 

“Is that for Sage?” Stiles asked, certain none of the other wolves could actually eat that much food. 

“Yeah, salmon is his favorite. Your dad and the deputies keep him in it most of the year actually. It's so expensive to buy anymore. Here, dole out these apples, the whole bag, and I’ll get the carrots,” Chris instructed. 

“I didn't know they ate apples,” Stiles said, picking up the big bag and dropping one in each pan, then over again till they were all gone. He threw the extra two in Sage's pan because he assumed he got most of the overflow. 

“At night we feed them potatoes and other vegetables. They like chewing on them for fun. Keeps them busy. Sometimes the farms bring by good stuff, but the avocados are a pain in the ass. They can't eat the skins or the seeds because they’re poisonous, but the flesh, they love. They get pretty excited though, so it’s worth it.” Chris grinned as he dropped handfuls of juicing carrots into the pans. “You know how to drive a forklift?” he asked. Chris pointed to the small forklift parked next to the garage door, a carrot still in his hand. 

“No, but it looks simple enough. Like a scooter?” Stiles asked. 

“You’d think, but they steer with the back wheels. I’ll show you. Lets wash up so we don't smell as much like lunch first though.” Chris nudged Stiles playfully with his elbow and pointed him toward the sink to clean up. 

Opening the garage door started the low, plaintive howling Stiles expected, but had never heard up close before. Chris gave him the highlights about the wolves after his interview the day before, mostly the weird, unsettling things, but the sound didn’t make him nervous like Chris said it might. The wolves sang like a choir, baying howling and and making a noise that almost sounded like laughing. They didn’t stop until Chris opened the doors to the separate bays and brought in the pans of food. Stiles noticed the small openings leading to the main plot of land didn’t close off before Chris went in. Any of the wolves could go in and out of any bay during feeding time. That didn’t seem incredibly safe, but Chris knew what he was doing. 

“They separate themselves up this way on their own?” Stiles asked, curious how the wolves decided who went where and who ate with who. 

“Yes, they understand their hierarchy and they respect the distance. It keeps feeding time quiet and safe for everyone. They’re smart. They’ll go steal each others bones and whatnot when they’re all back in the common area, but they’re all dedicated to keeping the peace. That’s how we know who’s paired off actually,” Chris explained. “Here you can take this in. Sunny is the matriarch, if she loves you they all will, and she pretty much loves everyone. Just wait there for her to check you out. You’ll know if she likes you.” Chris pointed to a spot in front of the gate. 

Nervous was no way to be around wolves, but Stiles couldn’t help it. He had been in here before, visited, but he had never been allowed in the cages. After he was thirteen and would have been allowed in, he thought this place was stupid just because Chris worked here and his dad liked it. It wasn’t until just recently he even remembered it existed, really. He had distanced himself from his dad, and by default Chris. He acted like an asshole, and he was lucky Chris forgave him for it. It wasn’t easy for any of them after his mom died though. 

Thinking about his mom and how she would have loved this place, how proud of him she would have been for working here and making the best of it, made Stiles brave. He pushed his fingers through the chain link fence for Sunny. She sniffed at him a little then licked his fingers, giving her approval. Whining and yipping, she jumped on the fence and wagged her tail, then let out a low, plaintive whine and clawed at the ground near the gate. 

“Go ahead and open it. She might come out but they aren't interested in being out here. She’ll go right back in with the food bowl,” Chris assured him. 

Stiles opened the gate and Sunny twisted her way through the small opening before he had a chance to give her more room. She sniffed him all over then nudged at his fingers like a dog. Once she was done checking him out she sat next to him and leaned against his leg. He pet her neck for a moment before Chris handed him the first pan of food. As promised, Sunny followed him in and started eating the second he set it down. They brought in two more bowls for her adopted kids, young rescued wolves, then moved on to the next bay. 

They were so much like dogs Stiles was comfortable by the time they got to Sage in the last bay. The huge, black wolf sat silently, waiting and watching intently like he had before when Stiles showed up. He wasn't excitable like the other wolves, but Chris greeted him enthusiastically, just the same. 

“Is he the omega, since he’s last?” Stiles asked, unsure how this big guy wasn't the alpha of the pack. 

“He’s a lone wolf, that’s for sure. We don't see him much except feeding time. Even then he sometimes doesn’t come into the bay until we’re gone. Sometimes he skips a meal or two. I think he catches a lot of rabbits out there on his own. The rest of them are pretty lazy, honestly, but we keep it populated to keep them busy. They need rabbit at least every other day to stay healthy,” Chris explained. “We aren't really sure how he fits in the pack, except maybe that he doesn’t. He prefers to socialize with us, meaning me and Erica. He tolerates Boyd pretty well though, and he seems interested in you. If he likes us all, that will be a first since we opened. It used to be just me.” 

“You think he’ll like me?” Stiles asked, hopeful. Sage looked and sounded like the most interesting thing at this place. Getting his blessing would mean something, like Stiles really belonged here like Erica and Boyd. 

“Maybe? He’s pretty quick to judge, but if he likes you, he’s a big puppy,” Chris smiled like he had a secret, then laughed. “I’ll show you what I mean.” 

Opening the gate, Chris stepped right through without any warning or set up like the other wolves. Sage came right over, walking circles around Chris and making the low, noise that sounded so much like laughing. Chris crouched down and Sage leaned into him, rubbing his face all over Chris like a cat. He pushed Chris over, forcing him to sit on the ground, then half laid in his lap, pawing and mouthing Chris’s hands as he dug into Sage's thick black fur. 

“He’s making sure I stink more like him than the rest of them,” Chris laughed, explaining why Sage was so intent licking Chris’s hands. Apparently done with Chris, Sage got up and trotted over to the fence. He sat right in front of Stiles like he was waiting, he kept looking over his shoulder at Chris like he expected Chris to do something about the fat Stiles was still on the other side of the fence. 

“This guy has some serious personality huh?” Stiles laughed. “He’s smart.” 

“Yeah, he is. Come on in, you’re safe. He’s been here since the beginning and he’s never hurt anyone. If he doesn't like you he just leaves, or waits all the way over there,” Chris pointed to the other side of the large bay. Chris gestured for Stiles to come inside, staying on the ground where Sage put him. 

Sage followed him along the fence to the gate then waited as he opened the door. The wolf immediately licked his hand and sat down next to him, the same as Sunny had done. Sage leaned into him the same way, somehow managing to look adorable instead of gigantic and predatory like he had before when he was staring at Stiles through the fence. 

“Man, you’re a lover, not a fighter, huh?” Stiles asked the wolf, obviously not expecting an answer. Chris had been talking to the wolves the whole time, so he didn't feel so stupid doing it as well. 

“I think you’ve passed inspection. I knew you’d fit in here.” Chris leaned over on his knees, grinning. “He likes you. You might want to consider a career in veterinary medicine, or stick around here until I retire and take over. You’ll have to fight Erica for it though.” Chris grinned like he was proud of Stiles. 

“Yeah, man, that would be awesome,” Stiles laughed, elated that Sage accepted him so easily. “I’m really sorry I was such an asshole about it the first time you offered. I just....” Stiles sighed, unsure of how to apologize for treating Chris, all the Argents really, like they were invisible for so long. They reminded him of his mom, and he was angry she wasn't around. 

“I don't give a shit about all that. You’re doing good now Stiles, and this place will just make it all that much better,” Chris assured him. 

It was true, and it didn’t surprise him Chris knew that. He sent his daughter Allison away to avoid it. High school for Stiles was one long series of humiliations and failures after the other. Reliving them didn’t do him any favors, but it was hard to not think about it. Trying harder, he shook off the bad memories and asked Sage if he wanted lunch. He was answered with a low whine. Sage went back to Chris while Stiles picked up his heavy pan off the forklift and lugged it in. He set it down near the door like the other wolves, but Chris waved him over, motioning for him to bring the pans too. 

“He doesn't protect his food for some reason, probably because he eats plenty. He’s even been known to take his food to other wolves like Sunny when they were sick. His odd behavior tells us a lot about what’s going on in here actually.” Chris had Sage on his lap, his arms wrapped around the wolf like he was a little kid. 

“I think he’s really sensitive. It might be why he doesn't like being around the other wolves. They might be too much for him, all the excitement and playfulness. He seems to prefer running, but he does play sometimes, mostly with me. He likes to cuddle with Erica. Seriously, It’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen,” Chris laughed and gestured toward Sage. “If she has a seizure, he alerts, but that’s not uncommon. Dogs can sense seizures too. They even have service dogs for people who don't get a warning like Erica does, but he knows when she’s had one at home and still feels crappy. He’ll sit outside the window and stare until she comes out and hangs out with him.” 

“It’s like he’s taking care of her or something.” Stiles was amazed. He felt bad that Erica had to suffer through something like seizures, but it had to be kind of weird and cool for her to have Sage around. 

Stiles sat next to Chris and watched Sage pace around his lunch for a moment. He ate the salmon first, like Chris said he would. Watching him eat the elk, crunching bone, ripping the bloody flesh apart with his fierce looking fangs was just the reminder Stiles needed that Sage wasn't a giant, fluffy dog. He was a wild animal that happened to like them. He and Chris talked about work for a while, then left Sage to his lunch. 

“See you later buddy, nice to meet you,” Stiles said before he walked out the gate. Sage cocked his head slightly, the same way he had before. It was the most dog-like thing he did, and it was cute.


	2. Day 2

Day number two was easier, and not quite as long. Boyd came in to relieve him around two in the afternoon, then he had two days off. He and Boyd split fourteen hour days all week between them. It was more than full time work, and great overtime pay, but a few hours at the end of the day were spent just hanging out and making sure the place was okay. It was chill work. A kid named Liam and a guy named Brett came in and watched the security camera monitors in the staff room at night. Either Chris or Erica were there to help at feeding times. Chris did maintenance and admin work, Erica did a lot of fundraising and cleaning. They had a good system, and they all knew where they fit. 

By day five It was obvious Boyd and Erica were dating. They finished each others sentences and Erica was always touching Boyd, even though they kept it professional in the office. With the look of the place he expected more shenanigans, but they were respectful of their work, everyone was. The constant chaos in the office was a product of their collective enthusiasm. It was a mark of pride that they had so many fans and ran such a remarkable sanctuary. By the end of a week he couldn't imagine working anywhere else. 

“I think Sage misses you,” Erica said, looking out the window by her desk. 

Stiles dropped his meal report and came to the window. Sage was sitting on the other side of the fence, his eyes fixed on the window like he could actually see them inside. “You didn’t...” Stiles trailed off, still unsure of how to talk to Erica about her epilepsy. 

“No, and he paces when it's for me because he’s nervous. He’s been cocking his head every time you swear at your paperwork. I think he likes your voice,” Erica said. 

“He can hear me all the way in here?” Stiles asked. 

“Say hi to him. He reacts when I do." 

“Hey buddy,” Stiles waved out the window and Sage got up. He jumped and bounced off the fence then paced back and forth excitedly. 

“You should go eat your lunch out there. Just sit on this side of the fence or you’ll lose it,” Erica warned him. “Here, take this.” She pulled a peach out of her own lunch bag and handed it to Stiles. “He loves these, the pit will make him sick though so don’t give it to him whole.” 

“Cyanide, I’ve been reading. Thanks,” Stiles said. Erica smiled and shrugged like it wasn't any big deal. She was excited Sage liked him. It struck him as almost motherly, like she was happy Sage had made a new friend. 

Outside, Sage paced the fence, obviously happy to see Stiles again. He had been gone for his two days off, and he came in after lunch. Next feeding time wouldn’t be for a few hours yet, but apparently Sage didn't want to wait. He made low, warbling noises like he was talking, so Stiles talked back, saying hello as he found a spot that was more grass than dirt to sit down and eat lunch. He settled on a spot near Sage's bay, but not inside. Sage laid down in the grass on the opposite side, like he knew this was a social call. 

“You’re kinda freakin’ me out buddy. I’m not sure why you want my attention so much. I mean, sure, I’m a looker but I doubt you care about that,” Stiles chuckled at his own stupid joke then dug out his sandwich. He kept going and pulled out all the bags of fruit and veggies he packed right along with his dad’s lunch. He didn't like eating like a rabbit, but he was loyal enough to stick to the diet anyways, for solidarity. “You can actually eat most of this, but Erica gave me this, just for you. You know how much that woman loves you? I mean look at this peach? 

Stiles held it out for Sage to take a good look. He kept his sharp eyes focused on the peach in response. 

“This peach is a farmers market, special-trip-on-sunday, organic kinda peach. That’s love. I know because I buy shit for my dad the same way. The thought of feeding him a bunch of pesticides and giving him cancer because I’m trying to help lower his cholesterol makes me actually feel ill. I’m a bad son if I don’t get the organic shit. That’s the kind of stuff we do for people we love though, right?” Stiles rambled on because Sage seemed to be paying attention more to his words than the food in his hands, which seemed odd. 

It wasn't normal behavior for a wolf, but Stiles had no idea how he was socialized when he was young, no one did. Sage was the first wolf here at the sanctuary. Hikers found him half starved to death inside the old burned out Hale house. The Hale family--what was left of it at least--decided to create a sanctuary. Stiles couldn't imagine being able to do something like that in response to an animal control issue, but when you had millions of dollars throwing money at things was probably a much more simple solution than anything else. 

The fact that he was found inside the house and starving suggested he was a pet, but no one knew where from. Stiles couldn’t imagine anyone abandoning Sage, not for any reason. He was so sweet, even if he was a predator. Sage had a firm understanding of the difference between things you were supposed to eat, and things you weren’t. Evident by his deep love of peaches and his long history of being a total sweetheart and never harming anyone. 

“Here you go buddy.” Stiles pushed a slice of peach through the fence and Sage took it from his fingers like he was practiced in the art of eating through chain link. Stiles fed half his lunch to Sage, not missing the carrots or celery at all.

Not eating his lunch would only make whatever sugar laden concoction Victoria sent over with Chris all the more appealing, and If Chris didn't bring something in they would probably order a pizza. Being on Shift with Chris was fun and still more like an awesome day with a friend than work. Chris was going to be at the sanctuary until the last feeding time was over. Stiles was nervous though, after Chris left it would be his first shift alone until Liam came in. 

“I wish they kept the monitors in a better place so we could hang out with you guys. I have to stay in the staff room and watch the security camera feeds pretty much the whole time. I’m not good alone with nothing to do. I’m not sure what I can do on the job yet is the real problem. When I write I kinda phase out. I’ll write for hours and think it’s only been a few minutes. I bet you have that problem, don't you? Like, watching rabbits or something. You seem like that kinda guy.” 

Sage sniffed at him and pressed his paw against the chain link. Stiles wished the cages were made of something that didn’t look so painful to hang your paws on, but Sage didn’t seem to notice. His claws looked different than the other wolves as they stuck through the fence. Stiles reached out and ran his finger over one of the long, sharp looking, black talons. He wondered why they weren’t more blunt, like the rest of the wolves’ were.

Stuffing the bags and trash in his lunch bag, Stiles got up and went into Sage's bay. The wolf followed him, bouncing as he ran into his bay ahead of Stiles, obviously excited. He sat down to interact with Sage face to face because he always pushed Chris over. Stiles saved him the trouble. He wasn't that rambunctious or playful with Stiles though, not like he was with Chris. He laid his head down on Stiles lap and enjoyed being petted for a while. 

When Stiles got up to leave Sage whined, letting out a long, sorrowful sound. “I’m sorry buddy,” Stiles grabbed his face and dug his fingers into the scruff under his ears. Sage's eyes were too big and soft. The thick black rings around his iris and the black skin around the eyes made his eyes look wolfish, but they weren’t the same orangey yellow of the other grey wolves. “I was reading about you. The description said you have blue eyes, which would mean you probably weren’t pure wolf, but your eyes are green aren't they? Kinda green and brown in the middle. That’s a wolf color, mostly. I wonder how they got that wrong?” 

Sage paced the fence, following Stiles as he walked back to the main building. He stopped and Sage stopped. Stiles smiled, wondering if Sage would mimic him more than that. He sped up and doubled back and Sage followed him. Stiles ran all the way back to the garage door, short of breath from the quick sprint. Sage jumped up on the fence, excited about the run. 

“Chris said you like to run. I wonder if anyone has ever run with you?” Stiles asked as he caught his breath. He pulled the door up and waved to Sage. “I’ll be back soon, be good.” 

The rest of the day was learning more paperwork and protocols with Chris. Then dinner for the wolves, but that went easy. He and Chris sat in Sage's bay for a few minutes as the sun set, discussing why they had never run with Sage. 

“The other wolves are more unpredictable. You start running and they might think you’re food, but I never considered running with him through the fence. If he follows you, and he seems to like it, I think it will be okay. He tends to run the other wolves off, so they probably won’t be that interested. The access road is pretty good, but not great. I’d watch your step if you want to try,” Chris warned. 

“I’m so out of shape, just running the short sprint nearly killed me,” Stiles admitted. 

“I’m an old man. I don't want to fall and break something that might never heal, but you should get off your ass and run if it was that hard. You’re going to end up gamer fat with hardening arteries if you don't start doing something more active,” Chris warned. 

It was true, he shared his dad’s internally terrible genetics. The rest of his family, far flung as they were, were mostly fat kids and disappointed parents with high cholesterol. His generation was doomed by Nintendo. Stiles had always been thin like his mom, and ate better now, but he hadn't exercised since he quit cross country because of Jackson and his bullshit. The only reason he joined in the first place was because the doctors told Scott it would help with his asthma, but Stiles hadn’t been half bad. He wasn't afraid of running over rough terrain, but the access road was hardly rough as far as he was concerned. 

Later that night Stiles fidgeted with the television remote, hating everything he saw. It was like television executives wanted people to be more stupid. There was probably some grand, Illuminati plan behind it, but Stiles didn't care. He just wanted the Discovery Channel to be like it used to be when he was a kid. Exhausted and sinking into the couch, his eyes went heavy out of sheer boredom. Chris warned him about nodding off. He said he had the same problem when he covered night shifts. He told Stiles to set the alarm on his phone to go off every twenty minutes, just in case. Stiles wouldn't get in trouble for nodding off, but awake was better, and he had to check the monitors at least every twenty minutes. 

After three hours he had cleaned and organized everything he could possibly tackle with interruptions every twenty minutes. Counting down the next couple hours until Liam came on shift, Stiles pulled the field notebook out of his pocket and flipped through the pages. He could read and edit, even if he didn't write new things. There wasn’t much chance of getting lost in that, it was too frustrating. 

“Working class to my bones. Going out all alone. Tonight, I might lose my way, but there's no one to stay. Love like a spark, it lights up the dark. We should do as we’re told, act like we’re old, but I just can't help it I reach for the stove.” Stiles read a few lines out loud to the empty room. “I hate it,” Stiles complained, only half meaning it.

A quiet, bark came from the hallway. Stiles sat up as Sage walked into the staff room. Stiles was so surprised to see him he almost missed the dirty paw prints that trailed behind him along the floor. He had dirt caked in his fur all the way up to his chest. Chunks of mud and filth fell off him as he casually walked into the room liked he belonged there. 

“Oh, shit, you dug yourself out, didn’t you? You aren't supposed to be able to do that! Dude, you are so dirty!” Stiles laughed as Sage sat on the floor in front of him. “Shit, we need to find the hole in the fence before any other wolves get out. Then you need to be cleaned up.” Stiles sighed, amused but not excited about cleaning everything again. “Man, at least I won’t be bored now, huh?” 

Turning off the television, Stiles sent Chris a picture message of Sage, just for fun. Chris sent back a text immediately that just said ‘you have got to be kidding me...’ Stiles laughed and got up to go outside, Sage followed close behind him. Chris called as they were walking along the fence with a flashlight. None of the wolves showed any desire to be outside the fence really, but they could get caught up in the curiosity of following Sage and get stuck outside. 

“You know, you could go into his bay and close the door, see if he comes to you. You might be able to see which direction he comes from, that’ll narrow it down at least. Do you think you need help?” Chris asked. 

“No. That’s a good idea though. I can fill the hole easy enough on my own. You want me to send you pictures, just in case?” Stiles asked. 

“No, that’s okay. I trust you. Thanks for letting me know,” Chris said. 

“No problem, I’ll call if I can't find it soon, thanks.” Stiles was grateful Chris knew a little better how to outsmart Sage. 

They ran along the fence back to his bay and Stiles slipped inside quickly, trapping Sage outside. Stiles waited but Sage just stared at him like he was crazy for wanting to be inside, when he could be outside. Stiles backed up to the far end of the bay and Sage paced restlessly, but it wasn’t quite enough to get him to come inside. 

“If you want to hang out with me, you need to come in here,” Stiles said, negotiating even though Sage couldn't understand him. 

Sage whined in response though, like he did understand. He jumped back and forth and pawed at the ground near his gate like he wanted in. 

“Sure, okay, but you need to come get me, I’m not going to--” 

Sage barked. A loud, angry noise that interrupted Stiles. 

“Go ahead, get pissed, I’m staying in here.” Stiles should have felt stupid having an actual conversation with Sage, but it felt more productive than all the times he had to kick drunk assholes out of his store before. 

Sage whined plaintively and ran along the fence, back and forth, like he did when they were playing earlier in the day. 

“You want to play? Maybe if I’m more fun, you’ll want to come back inside?” Stiles crouched low and ducked out of the bay. He ran toward the fence and chased Sage back and forth a little, but Sage stopped suddenly and lowered his head. He was looking toward the thin, dark brush behind Stiles. 

There was nothing there that Stiles could see with his flashlight. The other wolves slept far away, when they weren’t deep in the acres hunting at night. Abruptly, Sage took off, running along the fence at full speed. Stiles ran to keep up, but he had no chance, Sage was way too fast. He slowed down and turned around to head back when his flashlight caught a pair of eyes glowing in the dark. He passed over them too quickly and lost them. Adrenaline surged in his chest as he realized how stupid he was running in a giant wolf pen in the middle of the night. He kept his back angled toward the fence and pointed his flashlight toward the brush as he moved back toward the bays. 

Making it almost all the way to Sage's bay, Stiles was starting to wonder if he had imagined the eyes when Sunny’s two kids erupted from the dark. They were too close. Their heads swung low, eyeing him as they slowly stalked a half circle around him. Stiles took a deep breath to calm himself and backed toward the bay, keeping his flashlight trained on the wolves. They didn't like the bright light, and that seemed to be enough to force them to keep their distance, but the bigger one kept inching closer to him. Stiles glanced over his shoulder, wondering how much luck he would have jumping the fence. He could probably do it, but if he fell he could be injured and that would make everything far worse. 

Backing up against the fence, only a few feet away from the low entrance to Sage's bay, Stiles calculated his chances of making a break for it. And how likely it was they would follow him in there. The other wolves avoided Sage's bay like their lives depended on it, but Stiles didn’t know how much of that was because Sage was around. He wasn’t here now. The smaller female growled and bared her teeth, snapping at him as he side stepped toward the bay door. She was the same wolf that had rubbed her face all over his and licked his hands earlier. Stiles had fallen into the complacency Chris warned him about pretty quickly, and it was mostly Sage's fault. He was too docile, too intelligent. Even now, Stiles was sure he should be a lot more frightened than he was. 

A crashing noise startled the young wolves. Sage burst out of the brush, heading toward him at him full speed. Stiles froze as adrenaline short circuited his brain. For a moment he was afraid Sage was going to attack him, but he scrambled to turn around and put himself between Stiles and the smaller wolves. Stiles held his breath, trying desperately to force himself to move so he wasn’t in the middle of a wolf fight, but his muscles were locked, tight and unmoving. Sage let out one short warning growl and the other wolves danced back, unwilling to turn their backs on Sage as they slunk away timidly. 

Sliding down the fence into a crouch, Stiles took a few deep breaths as Sage sat down next to him and waited, vigilant, scanning the brush like a sentinel. After a moment his muscles started shaking as the adrenaline burned off. Sage leaned against his shoulder gently, still looking all around like he was worried the other wolves might come back. 

“Jesus dude, that’s all it took? I coulda done that,” Stiles laughed nervously. His bones were rubber, like had narrowly escaped death because he probably had. 

It had taken Sage a long time to get back to him. The hole in the fence had to be on the other side of the property, which was too long of a walk when there might be more loose wolves around. Stiles ducked through the wolf door on the fence and out the gate, leaving Sage inside. He went into the garage and pulled a couple cinder blocks and a shovel off the low shelves in the back, then loaded up the quad ATV on the side of the building. It would wake up all the wolves, which he had wanted to avoid, but they wouldn’t come out now, not with the loud quad circling the fence. 

The road was rougher around the outside of the sanctuary, but it only took a few minutes before he found Sage outside the fence pacing in front of a hole that went right under it. Sage waited quietly as Stiles fixed it, sinking both cinder blocks in to fill the space between rocks. When he was done Stiles leaned against the seat of the quad and slumped over. 

“Buddy, I was scared shitless out there. That was a pretty stupid move. Thank you for saving my ass.” Sage didn’t respond, because he couldn’t, but Stiles expected some kind of acknowledgement. It was strange he expected that. instead, Sage acted like a wolf, like he didn’t care about anything except the rabbits rustling in the underbrush inside the fence. “Let’s go get you cleaned up and you can have your pick of treats, okay?” Stiles offered as strapped the shovel to the back of the quad. Sage ran alongside him all the way back to the main building. 

The medical annex had a wash tub just for the wolves. Sage jumped inside it when they went in like he wanted to be clean. Stiles stopped for a moment, unsure what to think of that, but he supposed it was learned behavior. There were instructions on the wall about what to look for and how to inspect a wolf for good health, Stiles assumed it was for the veterinary students that came in to do rounds with Dr. Deaton. It made a good cheat sheet. Sage looked perfectly healthy besides the dirt. He sat still as Stiles closed and locked the tub door, then pulled on the handle to test the seal like the instructions said. 

Rinsing him off took forever because his fur resisted water, like all wolves, but eventually the water ran clean. He filled the bottom of the tub to soak Sage's paws and check for injuries. Surprisingly, Sage tolerated it better than any domesticated dog Stiles had ever cared for. 

"You're weird," Stiles said, cocking his head to the side like Sage sometimes did. "I wonder if you do this head tilting thing to get a new perspective, or is it because we think it's cute?" Stiles asked. "I could see you doing both. You seem like a complex dude, which I get. I'm a complex dude too." Sage glanced over at him, but looked away quickly to paw at the water aimlessly. Maybe he liked the reflection, or didn't understand how water worked. "My best friend Scott, he's a simple guy. Video games, chicks, beer, he's happy. Me? I write bad poetry to deal with my feelings, and I don't really like girls that much. I tend to like guys a lot more, which is even more complicated in this fucked up little town. It doesn't really matter though because there isn't anyone chasing me down anyways.”

Stiles worried for a moment he sounded too whiny, but Sage had no idea what he was really saying. “Okay, I guess if I can bitch to anyone, it's you, right?” Stiles laughed. Sage just sat there letting Stiles brush his paws with a nail brush to get the last of the dirt free. 

“I got into some trouble a while back, even though I didn't actually do anything. Someone turned me in, said I had a plan to bring a gun to school and shoot people. I would never do something like that, but the whole trenchcoat mafia thing.... I get it. I’m weird and they’re all worried, but I have a reputation now. People gossiped. I have to be super nice and completely impotent to make everyone comfortable around me. My dad says it'll pass, that this job will help because the Hales are so high profile with the sanctuary, and Peter being the face of cutting edge coma care and all. But really, fuck everyone who buys into that shit. I'd rather just hang out with you," Stiles admitted. 

Sage couldn't talk back but he watched Stiles closely. The illusion he was listening was even better than the one Scott pretended to put on. Loving Scott was easy, needing him to be more than be momentarily heroic was hard. Scott had bursts of love and care to give. The rest of the time he was stiflingly self absorbed. Stiles didn't mind, but it left him feeling less than satisfied when he tried to explain exactly why his life sucked. Most of the time Scott was only pretending to listen, hoping Stiles would be done soon. Scott wanted him to be happy and didn't know how to make Stiles feel better. He didn't understand all Stiles wanted was to feel heard, no matter how many times Stiles explained it to him. 

Cleaning Sage's nails turned out to be a total bitch, but Stiles managed to scrape most everything out like the instructions on the wall told him. Liam came in just as he was finishing, surprised to find Sage inside. 

"I'll stick around until he's dry, then put him back out. I made the mess. I’ll clean it up," Stiles smiled. 

“Alright, but I don’t mind getting the hallway. I usually clean up some anyhow,” Liam offered. Liam's eyes were fixed on Sage like he was worried about his presence. 

Sage stared back at Liam, who turned away and made a run for it when Sage let out the tiniest whuff, not even a bark really. Liam smiled and said thanks again as he left, but he was obviously nervous around Sage. 

"I think you intimidate him, bro. Gotta work on your people skills. Can you imagine how many peaches you'd be swimming in if you let everyone get to know the real you?’ Stiles laughed as he dried Sage off. “So charming and handsome. Kind of a pain in the ass, but you know, we all have our crosses to bear."

"Are you talking to the wolf, or me?" Liam asked, poking his head around the corner. 

"Oh, Sage. It's how I keep him docile. He's totally in love with me," Stiles smiled, then laughed at his own joke. 

"Obviously," Liam smiled back, more relaxed than he was before. "Usually Deaton has to sedate them to get them in there. That's what all that stuff is there for," Liam pointed to a harness contraption above the wash tub meant to hold the wolves while they were washed. 

"Nah, we're pros, right buddy?" Stiles said, pushing Sage back a little to get to the plug and let the water out. 

The white towels gave away just how dirty Sage still was, but he couldn't be expected to be perfectly clean if they weren’t allowed to use soap. He even tolerated having a blow dryer pointed at him until he was fluffy and shiny. 

"Deaton is never going to believe this," Liam said as Stiles wrapped the cord up and cleaned everything. Sage waited, laying on the floor in front of the tub. 

"Why? He's Sage, he's weird. Maybe he likes baths," Stiles laughed. 

"I’m usually here early in the morning when Deaton takes care of Sage. I’ve only seen him knocked out completely for this. I mean, he and Deaton don’t get along that great to begin with. Deaton has to tranq him if he even wants to get within five feet of Sage. It's not good for him to be knocked out that much. I think you should be doing it instead." Liam surprised him, suddenly taking the conversation to places Stiles hadn't expected. 

"I'm not a vet though," Stiles pointed out, not wanting to insert himself or interfere with Sage’s care. 

"But you just did almost everything Deaton usually does once a month, just to make sure they're healthy," Liam argued. “It didn’t seem to bother you. You didn’t fuck it up.”

"Yeah, but I might miss something." 

"Then learn."


	3. The Chosen One

It took a month for Stiles to pass Dr. Deaton's basic knowledge requirements, which didn't seem very basic at all. By the time he was done studying he knew more about wolf digestion and ear anatomy than any person should have to. He appreciated how high Deaton’s standards were though. He was a sought after veterinarian. He took trips to other wolf sanctuaries to consult pretty often on how to improve things. 

The first time he took Sage out of his bay to look him over, Deaton was on premises. He stayed in the front office watching on the security cameras, far away from the annex because Sage did not like him in the least, for some reason. Dr. Deaton was a good guy and he did his job well, Stiles didn't really understand it. When Sage was back in the tub, Stiles waved at the security camera, reminding everyone that he knew he was being tested. He went through all the motions, checking Sage over for all the potential ailments a wolf could pick up in a place like this. Sage was in perfect health though. 

When Stiles was cleaning up after himself, Sage began pacing tensely, alerting something was wrong. Stiles had learned to listen and not question Sage's instincts. He quickly washed the soap off his hands, but Sage was out the door before he was finished. Stiles followed him as fast as he could. He heard the door to the office building slam shut, but Sage was heading in the opposite direction, toward the garage. He jumped up on the side door of the garage, unable to open it himself. Stiles pushed the door open and Sage shot inside. Erica was in the garage packing elk into the big chest freezer. 

“Hey whats--” Erica’s face fell when she saw Sage. He was agitated and making a low, urgent complaining noise as he paced in front of her. She fished in her pocket and pulled out the bright pink magnet, then swiped it over her chest quickly. She handed it to Stiles just as Chris came in the side door. 

Dropping to her knees, Erica seemed to crumple in on herself. Her long blonde hair puddled around her face as her body jerked unnaturally. A strange, garbled noise escaped her throat and Stiles stepped back, scared of what was happening to her. Suddenly Sage howled. The sound was so loud and jarring Stiles covered his ears. Chris stood back, watching both Sage and Erica closely. The howling stopped abruptly as Erica’s body calmed. Sage paced in front of her until she relaxed. Stiles realized quickly she had passed out. Sage laid down next to her, trapping Erica between himself and the freezer. 

“Should we try to pick her up, or....?” Stiles asked. He had never seen anything like a seizure in his life. He felt helpless and stupid just standing there. 

“I’m not going to fuck with him. I don't think he’ll let anyone near her till she’s awake," Chris warned. "He’s usually a lot more agitated than this when she has a seizure, but he’s also never been this close,” Chris explained.

“He doesn't look agitated anymore,” Stiles said, trying to point out that it might be safe.

“That just means he getting what he wants. He’s protecting her, and that’s not the kind of behavior you interfere with. She’s fine, he’s fine, leave it,” Chris said. But he wasn't leaving, he was waiting. Keeping his distance, but making sure to stay close by. 

Stiles suspected Chris was more nervous than he let on. “Why do you seem nervous then?” he asked impulsively. 

“You’ve been spending too much time with Sage. You shouldn't ask people shit like that,” Chris smiled, trying to make light of the situation, but he didn't take his eyes off Erica. “This is the second one this month,” Chris said quietly, like that was significant. 

“Will she be okay?” Stiles asked. 

“The last one happened last friday, when you were off. It took her longer to recover than normal. It's really close to the last one. I don't know what it means, but it’s probably not good,” Chris admitted. 

A couple weeks later another seizure happened when Erica was helping Stiles feed the wolves. They were outside the cages when all the wolves started howling. They made the loudest racket Stiles had ever heard. Their urgent, mournful noises distracted him from what he needed to do to help her. Thankfully she was mostly fine on her own. Sage clawed at the fence so hard Stiles finally let him out so he didn't hurt himself. He was fine last time once she was better. He did the same thing he did before, laying next to Erica while she recovered. 

Stiles shoved the food pans into the cages quickly, not giving the wolves the usual attention, but they weren't interested. They all sat watching Erica, like an army of guards waiting for word their leader was okay. Sage sighed and laid his head on his paws, looking far too human, and far too concerned. Stiles sat in the forklift seat, leaned over the steering wheel, waiting with the rest of them for Erica to recover. Sunny was the first to leave her post to drag a rabbit carcass out of the pan. She brought it to the fence and chewed on it, still watching Erica intently. 

When she still wasn't completely awake twenty minutes later, Stiles called Chris. “Should I call the paramedics?” Stiles asked. 

“Her protocol says a half hour, but you can take her inside, get her on her feet and see if moving around helps. It has in the past. I’ll call Boyd.” Chris said. 

Picking up a grown woman off the ground was not something Stiles had ever done before, but he was sure he could. He could pick up Sage easily. Erica was tall, but she wasn't much heavier. He went to kneel next to Erica, to turn her over or try to talk to her, but Sage growled, baring his teeth aggressively. 

“Hey, buddy, it’s me. I need to take her inside. You can come with us, maybe hold the doors?” Stiles offered, fully aware Sage wouldn’t be able to do that, but hoping his tone of voice was enough to convince him it was a good idea to let Stiles help Erica. Sage's ears flattened and he whined, looking more apologetic than most humans could pull off. “It’s okay, you move back. I’m going to try and get her up without breaking myself.” 

Making space, Sage slunk back, but he stayed close as Stiles picked up Erica’s shoulders. She rolled her eyes and grabbed at his shirt ineffectively, partially aware of her surroundings. 

“Can you help me?” Stiles asked her. 

In response Erica’s legs moved against the ground. Stiles took his chance to lift her to her feet. She helped quite a bit, but once she was up he was the only thing keeping her from falling. “Okay, this isn’t going to be pretty, but can you walk?” he asked her. 

She lifted her head and looked at him, aware for a moment. She moved her arms to hold him better and shuffled her foot, but she didn't get far before she fell against him. She was thin and easy to keep on her feet at least. Stiles talked to her as they shuffled along. She seemed to be more aware, but it had easily been a half an hour and she was still mostly out of it. Stiles had to call the paramedics, but they couldn't come out to the bays to pick her up, not with Sage out. 

Even having Sage nearby would probably be a mistake. Stiles had to take her inside, then bring Sage back out. He carefully maneuvered himself under her until she was draped over his shoulder. Erica groaned like she wasn't happy being carried around with her ass in the air, but Stiles wasn't Boyd. He didn't have any other options. Plus he needed one free hand to open doors because Sage lacked opposable thumbs. He would never make it picking her up and putting her down over and over again either.

Walking with her over his shoulder was a lot faster, like he hoped. He got to the back door to the main building and opened it carefully. “Okay, sorry Erica if the door hits your shoulder, I’m--” but the door opened all the way and stayed right where it was. Stiles turned once he was in the hall to find Sage walking away from the open door. “Apparently Sage does know how to hold doors. Fucking hell, lets get you to the office and hope Boyd is here to help put you down.” 

Boyd and Erica lived only a few minutes away. Stiles hoped Boyd was at home when Chris called. His fierce hope was immediately rewarded by a gigantic figure slamming through the front doors as he tried to sort out how to drop Erica to the couch in the front office without hurting her, or himself. Boyd lifted her off his shoulder far too easily and checked her over. Stiles gave him the magnet and called the paramedics. 

“I have to take Sage out. It might get hairy if he’s here when the paramedics get here,” Stiles said. 

Boyd nodded and sighed in Sage's direction, concern creasing his face. 

“C’mon buddy. We can’t do anymore for her, she needs more help than we can give,” Stiles said. Sage looked up at Stiles, his head low and his eyes worried, like he had done something wrong.

The long walk down the hall was tense, but Stiles expected it to be worse. Sage kept stopping and looking back. Stiles waited, but Sage kept moving. They went to the fence out by the parking lot on the annex road where Stiles noticed Sage on his first day and waited. Sage watched silently as Chris showed up, then the paramedics came and picked Erica up. Boyd left with her in the ambulance. Chris offered to stay, but Stiles assured him he was fine. Chris needed to go to the hospital and be with Erica. They waited until the ambulance was far away before Stiles grabbed Sage's food off the forklift and dropped it on the ground in his bay. Thankfully he was always the last to be fed and the only one Stiles hadn’t gotten to yet.

Lunch was the last thing on either of their minds though. Stiles sat down against the fence and Sage laid next to him, his head on Stiles' chest. It was the same way he cuddled with Erica when she felt crappy after recovering. 

“That was fucking hard,” Stiles said, trying not to let the pooling wetness in his eyes turn into something more. He wasn't really sure what it was that upset him. He was scared of what might happen to Erica, and he was freaked out about what he had to do to help her, but he wasn't sure why he was so emotional about it. “I’m a big baby. I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me,” Stiles said to Sage, because he was the only one listening. 

The few tears that spilled down his cheeks felt like self pity, even though he was half sure they were just stress. He was here and Erica was at the hospital. He was the one who was okay. He had no right to be upset about that, but Sage was too. He wasn't eating, and he wasn't moving anything except his eyes. They looked more and more sad by the moment. 

“We were fucking useless. We waited like we should have, but what if something more happened? What if I hadn't gotten you out of there in time? Would you have torn the paramedics to pieces? I didn't think about that when I let you out. I just didn't want you to hurt yourself, but what if we did the wrong thing? I feel like we almost fucked that up really bad. We need to be more careful.” Stiles felt stupid for talking to Sage like he actually understood, but after the door holding incident and how he left Erica behind when Stiles told him too, he wasn't entirely sure Sage didn't understand a little at least. 

That made him feel crazy, certifiably, but Sage was nothing like the other wolves. Even the other wolves acted like Sage was just different, not one of them. He was much bigger and more frightening, but the whole pack being so stand offish didn’t make much sense. When Sage was around people though, he was almost like a person, someone who just couldn't talk. 

“I wrote a poem a few days ago. I think I wrote it about me, but it doesn't feel like it belongs to me. You wanna hear it?” Stiles asked, looking down at Sage's unchanging, sad eyes. He wanted something to distract himself from how shitty he felt, and poetry was pretty much his constant go to stress relief. “Of course you do, as long as I keep talking right?” 

“He sits by himself, in the back of the class, his hands shake when the teachers questions are asked. He lives alone and asks himself, how long can this last? They say you’re not alone. You’re not the sum of your mistakes. Children are strong they say, but they can’t heal broken bones. Don’t hide your face, you’re not the sum of their mistakes...” Stiles didn't know who the poem belonged to, but it wasn't quite his. Stiles didn't connect to it. He couldn't really identify with it deeply, even though he wrote it. No one ever heard his poetry though, no one but imaginary people like Sage. 

When they opened for tours a few days later everyone was nervous and uneasy because Erica was still gone. Allison stepped in though, taking over as primary liaison between the school district and the sanctuary. She did the job well, but she was planning on going to college at the end of summer. Everyone hoped Erica would be back far sooner than that. 

Stiles hadn't memorized the tour schedule yet, but he knew he wasn't assigned as a guide until later in the week. He started his work day the same as he had been for a while. He ran through the office, dropped his bag as he said hello, even though everyone was always busy. He ran out the back door and shouted for Sage, flinging open his gate so they could run the perimeter of the fence together. It was a good start to his work day for two reasons: it kept Sage happy, and he got to check the fence every day for more Sage shaped holes. 

“Today, we’re getting all the way around, no more of this running almost halfway and doubling back cause we’re nearly dead, right?” Stiles laughed, already happy he could talk while he ran. A week ago he hadn't been able to do that without gasping. They passed the halfway point and Stiles stopped, half heartedly cheering for himself. Sage, bounced excitedly and ran circles around Stiles as he fell to the ground, collapsing in exhaustion. “Mistake!” Stiles shouted, full of pure and unadulterated regret over running as hard as he had. 

Sage made low, warbling noises that were probably supposed to sound like ‘hey, get up and run more,’ but sounded like mocking to Stiles. 

“You mock me, Sir Wolferton! Pistols at dawn!” Stiles shouted, taking a deep breath and wiping the sweat off his forehead. “I should be mocked. This is ridiculous. I am ridiculous, letting everyone get to me so much I just sit around my house all day doing nothing for years? What an asshole.” 

Sage laid down next to him and pushed his nose into Stiles neck. Suddenly Sage was really interested in Stiles’ hair. He huffed and sniffed like he was looking for something interesting. 

Stiles protested, holding his hands up. “It’s too fucking hot for you to get all handsy, geez,” he said as he reluctantly lifted himself up. 

Runners high always helped with the second half. He was jogging along happily, high as kite when he saw a familiar head of blonde hair bobbing along the fence. “Sage, it’s Erica!” Stiles exclaimed, picking up speed as Sage shot ahead. 

Laughing breathlessly as Sage rounded the corner, Stiles slowed down expecting to hear Erica make a bunch of excited noise. Instead he heard a choir of tiny voices screeching in surprise and happiness. Adrenaline surged through his gut. He ran as fast as he could, tearing around the corner to find Sage and Erica on the ground rolling around like puppies. Allison and a teacher had a half a dozen kids standing behind them, protesting the ban on touching the great big awesome wolf. 

“Hey, Stiles. I forgot to warn you, the Helping Hands School is here today,” Allison said apologetically. 

Stiles' chest heaved painfully, he fell to his knees on the ground next to Erica and Sage. He nodded, barely able to breathe from the hard sprint. Not wanting to leave Sage out with so many kids, Stiles wrapped his arms around Sage's chest and picked him up. Erica did not help the situation by laughing so hard she made the teacher and Allison laugh too. It was dangerous because the kids were loud and grabby, but Sage wasn’t interested in them at all, just Erica. Stiles held the giant, squirming wolf in his arms like a baby waiting for them all to clear a path. They ushered the kids up against the outside fence and Erica opened Sage's bay door. Stiles set him down and he went right for Erica again. 

Shutting the door and locking the bolt, Stiles waved the kids over so they could see the big guy being silly and happy. Sage and Erica chased each other around a little, but ended up against the fence, Sage using Erica as a pillow, like usual. 

“Why is he so happy? Aren't wolves supposed to be mean?” one little boy asked. 

“No, wild wolves don't trust people, so they’re wary. They will attack if they’re provoked, if you’re mean first, but Sage isn’t wild. He isn't like a dog either. But he’s more dangerous because he’s more unpredictable than a dog,” Stiles answered. 

“Why were you running with him?” a girl asked, close to the fence. 

“You have a dog?” Stiles asked. 

“Yeah, but she’s old and stinky,” the girl answered. 

“You take her for walks? Get her exercise?” Stiles asked. 

“Yeah,” the girl said skeptically. 

“Well, Sage has to take me for walks because I’m lazy and out of shape. That’s why I was so far behind him,” Stiles answered. 

The kids giggled and the teacher laughed outright. 

“You wanna go get the kids some peaches? They can feed him. He needs a snack,” Stiles asked Allison. “Don’t forget a knife,” he added. 

“Sure, Molly, this is Stiles, but you can just call him wolfboy. That’s what we call him behind his back,” Allison said to the teacher, grinning at Stiles, proud of her lame joke. 

The kids twittered and talked amongst themselves about ‘Wolfboy’ enough that Stiles decided it was time for them to learn things besides how little his friends respected him. 

“C’mere you big lug,” Stiles tugged on Sage's tail and he let Erica go, turning toward Stiles with his tongue hanging out. He was still panting from their run. “You almost never do that, you look like a dog” Stiles laughed.

Like he understood, Sage licked his nose then put his tongue away, sitting in a dignified manner as he faced Stiles. 

“Don’t pretend, we all know you’re a big silly puppy.” Stiles dug his fingers into Sage's scruff and scratched under his ears. 

“Does he know what you’re saying?” a small voice said over Stiles shoulder. 

“Nah, but he likes it when I talk to him. Wolves and Dogs can understand a lot of single words, like commands, but not actual talking. He’s like a really smart German Shepherd. You know how they can be police dogs? Sage could do something like that, he’s still just a wolf though. He can't understand us, unfortunately.” Stiles scratched at Sage's ears but he wasn't leaning into it anymore. 

Oddly, Sage pulled away from his hands, then backed away from Stiles, his head low. Stiles didn't understand why Sage was acting strange. He had never seen Sage back away from anything. Sage backed right into Erica, who reached out for him. He turned around like he didn't realize she was there and took off, running across the bay, out into the brush. 

“Oh, why did he leave,” a little voice asked. 

“Probably too much noise, Sage doesn't usually stick around for tours, but it’s been awhile since he’s seen me," Erica explained. "Julie, you have a service dog, right?” 

“Yeah, we couldn't bring him here because of the wolves,” a tiny blonde girl answered. 

“Sage does the same thing for me sometimes that Julie’s dog does for her,” Erica explained. Immediately Stiles understood what Helping Hands meant, and why Erica was with them. 

Listening to Erica explain the seizure, alert thing that Sage did taught Stiles a few things. He had never heard Erica explain it herself. The value of it was eye opening. She told the kids how she had seizures and couldn't come to work for a while because she had let herself get stressed out planning her wedding, and the stress caused extra seizures. Julie was the only child that seemed to commiserate, but the rest of them nodded solemnly understanding far more than kids their age ever should. 

When Allison came back with the peaches Stiles cut them up and helped the kids feed them to Sunny and the other wolves. They were all sticky and elated by the time they finished the tour. Sage was gone the whole rest of the day, which was weird for Stiles, but back to normal for everyone else. 

“It’s tour season Stiles. He hates it, don't take it personally,” Chris said as he was packing up to leave for the day. “Don’t fixate on it either, just enjoy it when he does come around. You might have to deal with hanging out with him at mealtime, like the rest of us,” Chris grinned, amused Stiles was so attached to the wolf to begin with. 

A couple hours into his long, boring night shift, Stiles wandered outside to see if Sage was there. He had been bringing Sage in on his long night shifts, mostly so he wouldn't dig another hole in the fence or howl all night at the door of his bay. He was no where to be found. Stiles walked along the perimeter of the fence near the bay where he usually met Sage, but he didn't see anything. He gave up and went inside, trying his best to convince himself it was because of the tour, even though it felt personal, like he had done something wrong. 

The sound of the large file drawers in the office sliding open echoed down the silent hall as Stiles came back in. He walked down the hall toward the dark office, wishing he had Sage. He silently convinced himself it was an earthquake, or maybe Chris or Boyd not wanting to disturb him, but it was hard to believe they would keep the lights off. Stiles peered around the open door and saw a tall, muscled, naked back rifling through the files. Stiles stepped back, his hand on his phone. He only needed to walk quietly back to the staff room and shut the door. Then the intruder wouldn’t be able to hear him, and Stiles could make the call to the station. He hoped his dad was awake still. 

“Stiles,” a deep voice in the office said. It was rough and quiet, but unmistakably his name. He stopped, trying to talk himself into moving, or calling as fast as he could, but he wanted to know who it was first. It was a terrible idea, but he was the king of stupid, reckless, terrible ideas. “Stiles,” the voice said again. “Will you call my sister for me please,” the voice turned into a dirty, gorgeous face with shaggy black hair, and no pants. 

There was so much no-pants going on Stiles didn't know what to say for a moment. “Who are you?” Stiles asked, sputtering more than he wanted to. 

Huge, green eyes fixed on his. The young man was visibly upset. He was holding a piece of paper out for Stiles. With no answer and nothing else to ask, Stiles took the paper and looked at it. The intake paperwork was something he had seen in wolf files before, but this was Sage's intake paperwork. The name listed on previous owner was Laura Hale. 

Panic lurched in his chest. His heart pounded in his ears,as he looked back up at the familiar face. “Derek Hale?” Stiles asked, remembering him from before the fire. Derek had been brought into the station for tagging the water tower during civil war week with the rest of the basketball team. 

It had been years. Stiles was only at the station because his mom had recently passed away. The group of young, rambunctious men, proud of how much trouble they had caused, looked like people Stiles wanted to know. He was barely nine years old when he worked up the bravery to ask them what they had done to be brought in. A few of them called him names and told him to get lost, but Derek made them shut-up. Derek told him the story, smiling and laughing proudly the whole time. Stiles had mourned Derek Hale when he died in the fire. But here he was, standing right in front of him. 

“Stiles, call her please, or let me have your phone,” Derek said, pointing at the paper. 

“You’re dead,” Stiles insisted, holding his phone in his hand anyways, ready to call. 

Derek raised an eyebrow and waited. Stiles recognized the expression, though he couldn't recall seeing it on Derek before. 

“You’re not--you need pants, and--and you have to wash your hands if you’re going to use my phone,” Stiles insisted as Derek reached for his phone. Stiles was trying to buy some time, wrap his head around the fact that Derek was here, and alive.

Pushing past Stiles, Derek went to the staff room. Stiles followed him as he walked in and went right for Stiles’ bag. Derek opened it and took out the shorts he had changed out of after running with Sage. He pushed past Stiles again and went to the bathroom. Stiles watched a very real Derek wash his hands with the door open, then pull on the shorts. He was sane enough and smart enough to follow Stiles’ directions at least.

Intending to keep his promise, Stiles looked at the number on the intake paperwork and dialed as Derek came out of the bathroom. It rang and Stiles tried to hand him the phone. Derek shook his head, like he expected Stiles to talk to Laura. 

“Hello?” a woman’s voice. 

“Hi, this is Stiles Stilinski, I’m at the Beacon Hills Wolf Sanctuary, is this Laura Hale?” he asked, mouthing at Derek that he didn't know what to say. 

“Yes, is everything okay?” she asked. 

“Um, I don't know. Uh, the things is--your brother...” Stiles trailed off, not sure how to tell someone their dead brother wasn't dead. 

“Is he there?” Laura asked like she already knew he was alive. 

Derek tore the phone out of his hand as Laura started talking. “Laura, it's me,” Derek said. 

Stiles waited, but all he could hear was a raised voice on Laura's end, then crying, which was not totally unexpected. 

“Laura... I’m sorry, come get me,” Derek said. His voice was unemotional and strong. Stiles didn't know how he was keeping his shit together as Laura sobbed on the other end. 

Derek handed him the phone and Stiles shook his head. He could still hear Laura talking, and crying. Derek turned and walked toward the bathroom when Laura shouted Derek’s name loud enough for Stiles to hear even with the phone far away from his ear. 

Stiles picked up the phone and waited, pacing until there was a break in the tirade of concern Laura was throwing at Derek. “Laura, I’m sorry he left,” Stiles said, turning to see the door at the end of the hall shut. His shorts were on the floor in the bathroom and Derek was gone. “Laura, he’s gone, but come please, I’m going to go look for him,” Stiles said before he ended the call and ran down the hall to look for Derek. 

Outside there was no sign of Derek. Stiles grabbed a flashlight and scanned the whole area, but there was nothing. A familiar whine and the sound of chain link rattling dragged his attention away. Sage was clawing at the fence, trying his best to get out, probably alerted by Derek, thinking he was an intruder. 

“C’mon buddy, we’re fine.” Stiles went to check on Sage, comfort him a little through the fence. The fence was sticky. He pulled his fingers away quickly. They were red with blood. There was blood and black skin hanging from the gate. “Shit, did you tear your paws up, goddammit,” Stiles opened the door and let Sage out. 

Following Stiles back to the annex, Sage didn’t run after Derek or look for his scent or anything, even though he was obviously upset by the man’s presence. Stiles inspected Sage's feet, cleaning them carefully with saline. They had blood on them, but the pads of his paws looked fine. He left an incident report on Chris’s desk detailing the whole thing, and how the other wolves should be checked for damage. It had to be one of them that left the skin behind. When he was done he went back to the staff room with Sage and sat down on the couch. Sage laid his head on Stiles chest, sighing every once in a while like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. 

“That guy was weird, I know. I wonder what the hell is up with that? I bet he’s been living out in that ancient, busted up cabin on the Hale property. That's the only thing that makes sense. You know I used to know him? I thought he was dead. I don't know, he didn't seem like the kind of guy to drop out like that and go full hippy, nudist, but I only talked to him once. I was just a little kid, but he seemed totally fearless. No one hides away like that and lets people think they’re dead unless they’re really scared,” Stiles said to Sage, wishing he could get at least part of an opinion back. 

“We won’t tell anyone. The last thing that guy needs is publicity, right? We’ll just tell Chris and wait until Laura gets here. If she can't find him then maybe we’ll figure out what we have to do. He came here so he must know this place is about all that’s left of the Hales around here besides Peter, and he’s not making any phone calls anytime soon. Also, why come in the middle of the night unless you don’t want anyone to know, right?” Stiles asked Sage, still batting around the rationale, even though he had already made up his mind about what to do. 

“His face was ridiculous, and his--he was hot, but thats not--fuck. Derek was always ridiculously hot, but that’s such a fucked thing to say about someone when they're all messed up like that. It was just really hard to not notice, you know? He was all out, like, right there, and I’m not blind. I might be going to hell, but at least the view was worth it,” Stiles said sarcastically. He turned the television off and buried his fingers in Sage's scruff. 

The wolf was quiet and fixated on Stiles, but he spent half the day freaked out by the kids, hiding out. It was understandable. Stiles rubbed his chin on Sage's forehead. The weird scent marking thing never failed to make Sage happy. He laid down in Stiles’ lap, stretched out on the couch as far as he could fit. He looked happy after a while, or at least comfortable. Stiles figured for a wolf it was probably the same thing. Stiles pet his long black scruff soothingly, wishing he could really apologize for all the excitement. 

The next day Stiles came in to work in the afternoon, but Chris met him with questions before he could take Sage for a run. He answered them as best he could, not really knowing much more than what was already in the report. Chris said he hadn't been able to get ahold of Laura, and he had told Stiles’ dad about it. He agreed it was better to keep it quiet from everyone else until they knew more. 

It was a more intense conversation that Stiles expected, but he had forgotten, Chris knew the Hales before the fire. It was a twisted, complicated pile of shit between the Argents and the Hales that Stiles never really understood, even though he had picked up most of the pertinent details over the years. Chris had been a financial officer somewhere in the Hale business universe. His sister Kate had been the one who set the fire that burned the Hale house down and killed everyone. She was in prison for a about eight lifetimes, No one blamed Chris though. Meaning Laura never blamed Chris because she was the only Hlae still alive, they thought. She asked him to build the sanctuary, and he decided to run it when it was done. Laura left, Chris stayed. They rarely spoke. Everyone was happy far away from each other, until now. 

Satisfied with Stiles’ answers, Chris let him go to take Sage for a run before the next tour showed up. Outside in the bays, Sage was laying on his side like he was sleeping, which was not normal behavior for him. Stiles called to him and he rolled onto his stomach, but he didn’t get up. He laid his head on his paws and let out a long, despondent whine. Stiles went into his bay and crouched down, petting Sage and talking to him. He didn't respond much but to get up and crowd into Stiles’ space. Stiles held his head in his hands, scratching his ears and head. Sage's intent green eyes seemed oddly human and sad. 

“Man, it’s okay buddy. If you’re sick we’ll take care of you. If you’re just sad or something we can get some cool toys maybe? Maybe we can box up the other wolves and go for a run through the acres huh? Chase some rabbits and catch our own lunch?” Stiles suggested. Sage nosed his head over Stiles shoulder and laid his head down heavily. “You’re really worrying me dude. I hope this is just your regular mood when the tide of people start visiting again. I know it's hard, but the tiny people love you. They think you’re some kinda wolf god or something, like a rockstar,” Stiles laughed. 

The outside door slammed open on the other side of the main building and a very small, brown haired woman came stalking around the corner. She made a straight line right for Stiles. He could only assume from the anger and the confidence that she was Laura Hale looking for her brother. She tore open the door, holding the chain link gate open with tight, white fingers. 

“Are you coming?” the maybe-Laura woman asked. 

“I don't--” 

“Not you asshole, him,” the woman pointed to Sage. 

“What are you talking about? Are you Laura?” Stiles asked, trying to make any sense of the absurdity she was flinging at him. 

“Yes, I’m Laura, and Laura is waiting exactly three more seconds before she walks away,” she threatened. 

Sage detached from Stiles’ shoulder and started out the door with his head hung low. Stiles jumped up and reached out for Sage, telling him to stop. Sage turned and snapped at him, barely missing his fingers, baring his fangs viciously. Stiles stepped back, letting Sage lead Laura to the main building. Stiles followed them, dazed and powerless as Sage made his way through the halls and out the main office. Stiles wanted to scream at them, beg them to stop acting like crazy people and tell him what was going on. Sage waited patiently for Laura to open the front door and Stiles watched silently as Sage walked out of the building and got in the passenger seat of a black sedan of his own volition, then left with Laura. 

He was still standing there when Chris came in. “Why is Sage's gate open Stiles? You’re lucky none of the wolves escaped.”

“I quit,” Stiles said abruptly, surprising himself and Chris. 

“What? Stiles, it was just a little mistake. I can drive the perimeter and--” 

“Chris, Sage just left with Laura Hale. He led her out, got in her car, and left. I don't know what the fuck is going on, but I’m out. This--fuck this,” Stiles grabbed his bag off his desk and pushed past Chris, running to his Jeep. 

Inside he went on autopilot. He drove home, took a shower and locked his bedroom door so no one could barge in. He played Call of Duty and fucked around on the internet for a long time. Telling his dad he was fine every time he knocked on the door was easy. Stiles had done the same thing for years. Checking out was the easiest way to cope with crazy, fucked up shit. It was normal for him when everything else made no sense. He tried not to sleep, or stop doing things because he didn't want to think about anything. He wanted to do just as he had done in high school, run himself out so hard he broke down and forgot the last few days. It worked for two days, Stiles was almost strung out enough to pass out and sleep for a while, until his dad came in and wouldn't leave. 

“Why are you trapped in here, and why did you quit your job?” his dad asked. It was the demanding tone of voice his dad used when he wasn’t going to be placated. 

“I’m sick. I have the flu,” Stiles lied halfheartedly, not sure what else might work. 

“Okay, but why did you quit?” his dad asked, sounding more concerned than angry. 

“I’m too sick to talk about this,” Stiles answered far too unemotionally. 

“You look like shit, yes, but you’re a little too coherent to pull that off. I’ll leave you alone for now if you promise to get sleep and eat something?” his dad asked. 

“I will. I’ll go take a shower now,” Stiles agreed, knowing his dad would be gone for work by the time he came out. 

“Okay, but--I’m worried about you son. You need to tell me, did the Hale boy hurt you?” his dad asked. 

Stiles couldn't help the flinch he made when his dad mentioned Derek. It meant Derek might be real. 

“Did he hurt you Stiles?” his dad asked again, his voice imposing and alarmed. 

“No, he didn’t,” Stiles assured him. 

It wasn’t really a lie. Stiles wasn't sure who it was that hurt him, or if it was real. He shook off the thought and gave his dad a weak smile, repeating his promise to shower. He walked into the bathroom and turned on the ice cold water. It was a weak attempt to short circuit his brain, to distract himself from the thoughts he was having, but it didn't work. He was too aware now, his dad had asked too many questions, said the wrong name. He had almost convinced himself it was all in his head. That no one besides Stiles knew the name Derek Hale because no one else had seen him or Laura, and that was just too convenient. That kind of convenient usually only happened when people were confused about what was real and what wasn’t. 

Claudia Stilinski, age 29 at time of death, didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t for a long time before she passed away. She died thinking her own son was a stranger. The dementia stole her a tiny piece at a time until there was nothing left. One of the first things she said that truly frightened Stiles was how she could see lions in her room, falling like the rain and sun. He asked what she meant and she described their faces, big, round and gold like sunshine. He pretended she was talking in poetry, because that was meaningful, not just crazy talk. It was a kind of creation in the madness that made her words valid. He wrote the parts he understood down and built words around them, like he was finishing a painting for someone else, but he couldn’t pretend forever. 

Some days she would go off like a shotgun, shouting and flailing in her bed, trying to get away from the monsters she insisted were all around her. She accused orderlies and nurses of being demons, then cried about how nothing looked the way it should. She muttered in her sleep about whatever villain she was fixated on, seeing the world through the heavy sedation and psychotropics in a way that he understood was terrifying. His mother died afraid of everything, and nothing, because none of it was real. 

He wanted her back. Even out of her mind with dementia, Stiles would take her back, but he couldn't become her. Derek hadn't been real, that meant Stiles was going crazy like his mom. That he could accept, in a way, even if he was terrified beyond the telling of it. If Derek was real though, that meant monsters were real. If his mother had been afraid of real things only she could see, if no one believed her, she suffered worse than illness, she suffered betrayal because no one believed her. Neither choice was okay, neither of them made any sense, but that’s all he had. It was like choosing between shooting himself in the hand or the foot. 

Rage flared in his gut like a bonfire, filling his veins like stinging rust and dirty mold. He punched the tile wall in the shower. Then again, trying to hurt something so he didn't have to think about anything. He punched again and the tile broke open, falling on his foot painfully. His knuckles bled and his foot was sliced open. The sting of open flesh and the ache of bruised bone was cathartic. Relief flooded through him as he watched the redness swirl at his feet like an angry hurricane, blooming as it twisted and vanished down the drain.


	4. A Metaphor for Crisis

Two days later his stomach stopped hurting, and his dad stopped yelling. He watched a black shadow play across his vision, slightly comforted by the observable hallucination. At least now he knew. He could be more certain he made it all up. This was the beginning of something, a puzzle he could crack to keep himself sharp. He could tell the difference between what was real and what wasn’t because he knew what his life was like before Derek Hale. He could mark those things in his mind and accept them as real. The rest he would question relentlessly until he was sure. It might not work all the time, but his life could be smaller. Just his dad and Scott, that would make things easier. He could last for a long time that way. His dad wouldn’t even have to know for years, maybe. It didn’t matter if he got medical help because there was nothing anyone could do except make him more comfortable, and the last thing Stiles wanted was to feel comfortable. 

He had a solid plan. The relief of knowing what to do spread into his worn out body, motivating Stiles to get some sleep. He woke up to his dad’s voice, hands shaking him awake urgently. Stiles pushed back, begging to be left alone. He was sore and his eyes were gritty. It felt like he had been woken up from a very bad dream. He didn’t understand why his dad was talking, the words he said were too fast and too complicated. When his dad pushed him to get up again, using a loud firm voice, Stiles cursed loudly. Hands bunched in the front of his shirt, lifting him out of bed. Lashing out and punching his dad was a reflex, an action that finally woke him up with adrenaline and regret, but Stiles kept pushing back even though he knew it was a mistake. The altercation ended when his dad threw him down and pinned him face first to the floor. He didn’t blame his father, he deserved a lot worse than just being restrained. 

There was no winning. He pushed his dad too far. He wasn’t going to be left alone, and he wasn’t going to be able to ignore anything that his dad wanted him to pay attention to. He made himself physically weak in his attempt to cope. That was a mistake. On his best days he could stand toe to toe with his father and hope to come out with a concession from his dad. On days like this surrender was his only option. He tried, but it was over. The only thing he could hope for was his dad not knowing enough to ask the right questions. If he found out Stiles was sick like his mom, his dad would never let it go. He would fight till the last possible second. Nothing would stop him. 

“Derek, stop--Derek,” Chris Argent’s voice followed loud footsteps up the stairs and down the hall. 

Even with his face against the floor Stiles could tell Derek was standing in the doorway of his room. He was hallucinating right in front of his dad. He closed his eyes and said he was sorry, hoping it would go away. He wished his dad wasn’t good at restraining people without hurting them. Pain might make it go away. Instead, loud arguments filled the space around him, distracting him as he was picked up off the floor. He sat in the chair his dad told him to sit in, and tuned all the voices out except his dad’s because his dad’s voice was safe. He expected to hear his father yelling, lecturing him, but his words validated the presence of everyone else in the room. 

None of it made sense, Stiles couldn’t believe it even if his dad was talking to them. He had to be dreaming, or maybe this was still the nightmare he had been having. His head hurt and he felt sick. He should have gotten up and ate something. Being weak and ill would only make the hallucinations worse. He could do something about that maybe, but first he had to turn off what was happening around him, get back to something real. 

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. 

He had to remember the basics, the absolute truth. His name was Stiles Stilinski. His best friend was Scott McCall. He liked his dad, Lydia Martin, and his Jeep. Sometimes he liked pie, but mostly he liked cake, and sandwiches, and peaches. He watched a lot of porn, he liked comic book movies and playing video games. The voices got quiet as his own got louder. He stopped when he realized he was saying it all out loud. The room was quiet though, finally. He breathed in relief, hopeful the mantra had unraveled everything. 

Stiles was still too scared to open his eyes and look. 

“Get out. Both of you. Go argue about stupid shit somewhere else,” a deep, commanding voice reverberated through the room. 

“John, just leave it,” Chris warned, words he had repeated many times before. 

Stiles looked up and everyone was there, looking at him. They weren’t arguing anymore, they were concerned. His father looked frightened and lost. He wanted to count on his dad being his anchor to the real world, but maybe that wasn’t something that would work, not when he had disappointed his father in so many ways. His brain had too much to work with on that front. 

Chris took his dad’s arm and pulled him out of the room, shutting the door with a sense of finality that felt like defeat. His dad was gone and Stiles was alone in his room with something he wasn’t sure was human, if it was even real at all. 

“You think you’re sick, like your mom,” Derek said, not a question, like he knew. “You told me about her, how she died. You even told me some of the things she said. Do you remember that? Lions, falling like the rain and sun?” 

Stiles watched it talk, realizing it could know everything he knew. He couldn’t argue with it because that would be like arguing with himself, and he was better than that. He heard stories about people who lived with schizophrenia, hearing voices and being intelligent enough to know which were real and which weren't. He might be broken, but he knew which pieces were his. 

“You aren't crazy. I need to show you, so you believe me, but you don’t--I don't want you to hate me.” Derek turned and took a step, shifting and pacing slowly, in a familiar way. “Can you say something?” Derek asked, his hands folded tightly together as he gripped his knuckles nervously. 

Stiles fixed his eyes on Derek’s hands because his face was too real, too needful. He waited to see what it would say, how far it would go. Stiles needed to know how far gone he was. 

“Stiles, I didn't do this to you, You found me. I don’t know how to say I’m sorry in a way that could make this better,” Derek said. 

The pain in his voice was real, too real. The air was too real, so was the muggy grossness of his room. 

“You’re not real,” Stiles challenged, looking the Derek-thing in the eye. It wasn't going away. He wasn’t sure what else to do except fight it as best he could. 

“I am real,” Derek insisted. His intent stare was unnerving, but it was kind and worried. Derek took a step toward him, then hung back like he was struggling with something. 

“Prove to me you’re real,” Stiles said, sounding more emotional than he wanted to. He wanted to harden himself against this, but the face looking back at him hurt too much to ignore. 

That face had power to unravel him, but Stiles didn’t understand how that was even possible. The few moments he had spent talking to, and mourning Derek Hale could in no way account for how much power Derek had at that moment. Stiles saw everything, the hesitation and pain on Derek’s face when Stiles spoke, the way he held himself, like Stiles had kicked him in the gut. 

“Touch me, I’m real.” Derek held his hand out, glancing down at it with a scowl, angry because it betrayed him by shaking. Derek was nervous. 

Stiles forced himself up and crowded into Derek’s space bravely, determined to not be afraid of something in his own head. Derek looked surprised but welcomed the sudden, unexpected proximity with a soft, hopeful half smile. Stiles immediately took a step back because up close it was all wrong. Derek wore Chris’s cologne and it didn't smell right. He was also wearing a suit. Some kind of ugly grey, sunday suit that fit him well, but looked like it came straight out of a catalogue for Republican living. Stiles hated the suit, but he liked Derek’s face, and his hands. 

“Why are you wearing this,” Stiles asked tugging at the deep collar of the suit jacket. 

Derek took it off immediately and threw it on the bed. “I was nervous, I thought if I looked really--different. Fuck, I’m bad at this,” Derek said, sounding desperately lost. 

“Do you not want to answer me?” Stiles asked, looking for anything to exploit. 

“I’ll answer you, but maybe you can ask less hard questions?” Derek rubbed his forehead harshly before taking off his tie and unbuttoning the sleeves of his shirt. 

Shaggy black hair that shifted and moved while Derek worked on his shirt buttons wasn't right either. Derek’s hair was supposed to be short. A buzz cut for all the sports he played. Stiles wore his hair the same way for years, even though he never played any sports. He had permission to touch Derek. The half smile, the happiness in his eyes when Derek thought Stiles was going to touch him gave Stiles enough permission. He reached up and ran his hands over Derek’s hair, feeling the soft, wavy curls that stuck to his forehead damply. Derek leaned into his hands. Stiles forced himself to look at Derek’s eyes. 

Green. Light, clear green with a brown ring around the pupil that almost vanished as his eyes dilated wide. The thick, dark eyelashes were almost enough to convince him, but it wasn't quite right. 

“I don’t understand.” Stiles shook his head, searching those eyes for some kind of clue to make sense of this, explain how it was possible. 

“Sit down.” Derek crowded him back, pushing him into the computer chair at his desk. 

Derek wasn’t making a request, even though Stiles wanted it to be. He wanted Derek to be sorry. He wanted him to apologize and disappear, not take control of the situation. Instead, he was pushing Stiles back against the desk, trapping him in a way that felt like Derek was afraid he might try to run. Kneeling between Stiles’ legs, trapping him even further, Derek situated Stiles like he was posing a mannequin. His hands were put on Derek’s face, his fingers pressing against a hard jaw and rough stubble. 

“You have to watch me, and don’t let go. You have to promise me, even if you’re scared,” Derek asked. He seemed hopeful, but he shivered under Stiles fingers like he was terrified. 

“Why, what’s going to happen?” Stiles asked, afraid for Derek more than himself. 

“I’m going to change, but...” Derek took a deep breath and gripped Stiles’ hands tight against his face. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to come back if you run. You can’t run. It might be the most horrible thing you ever see in your life, but you have to see it and feel it, or you won’t ever really believe it.” 

Derek spoke like he was sure of himslef, like he knew Stiles well enough to know these conditions were absolutely certain. 

“I won’t--I’ll stay,” Stiles promised, trying to sound like he was sure he meant it because of the raw urgency in Derek’s voice. 

“Promise me. You have to promise because I don’t want to go back. I want to stay here, like this. I can’t go back. I’m trusting you,” Derek said the words like they hurt when they left his mouth, like his lungs burned from the pain of letting them go. 

“I promise,” Stiles said quietly, giving up on sounding brave because he wasn’t. He didn’t understand why Derek would count on him now, when he was so weak and lost, but Stiles was sure of one thing, Derek really, truly needed him. 

Stiles’ arms ached from the tension in his hands already, the effort he put into not gripping Derek’s face too tightly, but Derek leaned into his hands like he welcomed it. Impossible green eyes fixed on his face, but they changed, turning blue and growing brighter until they looked like they were radiating their own light. Then Derek’s eyes fluttered and his head jerked in a way that reminded Stiles of Erica and her seizure. His fingers tightened involuntarily, holding Derek’s face still as muscle spasms ripple over Derek's face. 

His fingers pressed into Derek’s neck and jaw, his thumbs digging painfully into moving flesh. He couldn’t breathe watching the muscle spasms morph into misshapen bones, cracking and popping under his fingers. It kept happening, no matter how much Stiles wished it would stop. There was something under the surface trying to get out. Stiles tried his best to hold Derek together, but the violent power of the wolf writhing under his skin was too powerful, like a hurricane forcing it’s way to the surface. 

Teeth turned into fangs and stubble turned into thick hair under his hands. He wanted to let go, but he couldn't make himself do it. Stiles promised, he had to hold on and keep Derek here. But it wasn't Derek looking back at him anymore, it was Sage. The remains of his suit fell to the floor, pooling around his paws. Somehow that was ridiculous and funny, like the happy ending of a black comedy. It was absurd, fantastical and totally unbelievable. 

“I asked you why you were wearing this because it looks stupid on you,” Stiles said, reaching down to push the sleeves of the white, pressed shirt away. He helped Sage, comfortable in his space, touching him with the familiarity they had built over the last few months, but this wasn’t Sage. 

“You are Sage,” Stiles argued with himself, holding the thick, black fur tight in his fingers, sure it was as real as it had ever been. 

Everyone had seen Sage. Everyone knew him. He was plastered all over the office in pictures and art. He protected Erica, and he didn’t like being called a pet because he actually knew what that meant. There was no mistaking the soft feel of the fur on his face, or the damage his oddly long, sharp claws had done to the shirt at his feet. Sage was eal, but he couldn't be sitting in the middle of his room, could he? 

“I’m not crazy,” Stiles said, looking at his friend and seeing the same light green eyes that always looked back at him. “They were blue, weren't they? For a minute.” 

In response, Derek’s eyes glowed the same bright, steel blue. They were like a badge, an emblem of his inhuman power. Something had to give him the ability to do this, something that couldn’t be explained by the science Stiles was taught in school, but Derek couldn’t be the only one who knew. Laura and Chris knew what he was too. If Chris was the same kind of creature it would explain a lot, like how he wasn’t upset and running scared like Stiles should be. It didn't make sense to believe more in something so unexplainable, but it felt more like the truth than the idea Stiles had made it all up. Stiles wasn't afraid of Sage, or Derek anymore. He felt better than he should about learning something he was sure he was never supposed to know, more calm and collected than anyone probably had the right to be in the face of that kind of truth. Probably because it meant he didn’t have frontotemporal dementia like his mother. 

“I made myself sick worrying about this,” Stiles said, finally letting himself feel the heavy, empty sensation of his worn out body. “You know, your sister could have come and stolen you in the middle of the night or something less traumatizing. She’s kind of a bitch,” Stiles said. 

He wanted to hear what Derek had to say back, if he agreed. Making a display of coming to get Derek didn’t seem like Laura’s goal, or she would have done it when more people were around. Instead it was just him. He wasn’t sure, but there was probably something to that. Only Derek could answer that question. 

Remembering what Derek said about changing back, Stiles slid to the floor, wrapping his arms around Sage’s neck. Half his face buried in soft black fur he silently said goodbye to his friend, unsure if he would ever see him again. Part of him wanted to cry and mourn his friend, but Sage, like Stiles knew him, had never been real. 

“Please come back,” he said, hoping it was enough. He didn’t want Derek to come back, but he did at the same time. Stiles would never be able to choose between Derek and Sage for himself. 

Keeping his eyes closed, he held on as shifting, cracking and popping turned into a heavy body across his legs. Strong, heavy arms wrapped around him that felt more powerful now that Stiles was sure they were real. 

“Did I do something? I wished you were a person often enough...” Stiles asked, understanding how absurd he sounded, but the whole thing was absurd and unbelievable. 

“No,” Derek laughed softly. “I was like this when you first met me, in the sheriff’s station.” 

“When you were just a kid?” Stiles asked, wondering how he kept it a secret. 

“I was born like this, to a family of people like me. You might call me a werewolf, but that’s not the only name we have.” Derek shifted against him. 

Stiles wanted to look at him, talk to him like he was a person, but he didn’t want to let go of Sage quite yet. So, he kept his eyes closed and pretended he understood they were the same person, hoping his mind would learn to accept it. 

“How do you hide it from everyone?” Stiles asked. 

“We didn’t, not well enough, that’s why Kate killed my family. She was interested in me, but I didn't give her what she wanted, so she followed me and found out about us.” Derek’s voice was solid but his arms were almost too tight as he confessed. 

Stiles remembered when the fire happened. Derek was just a kid when his house burned down, and Kate was a lot older. It was obvious the circumstances weren’t as simple as Derek described. Only obsession or sheer insanity drove people to do what Kate had done, If she had been obsessed with Derek, and he was the reason she burned the house down, Derek felt responsible. Stiles couldn’t dismiss him anymore, or wish he was still Sage, not when Sage was probably just a way for Derek to hide out. Stiles knew enough about hiding away to recognize it when he saw it. Stiles opened his eyes and put enough space between them so he could see Derek speak. How he held Derek was too intimate, but he refused to make his uneasiness Derek’s problem, not when Derek had risked so much for Stiles’ peace of mind. The last time someone found out, his whole family died. Stiles wasn’t going to pretend he deserved this explanation. It was a gift, a sacrifice Derek made with complete faith Stiles would do the right thing with it. 

“Did she see you change?” Stiles asked, letting Derek know he wanted to hear the rest of the story if Derek wanted to tell it. 

“It was my fault, I couldn’t control myself yet and she saw me change on the full moon,” Derek admitted. 

The remorse and guilt in his voice and face made it impossible for Stiles to leave it alone. “I saw you change, and I don’t want to hurt you, I want to protect you. So, how is it your fault?” Stiles asked, hoping it wasn’t the worst thing he could possibly say. 

“It feels like my fault,” Derek admitted, and Stiles couldn’t argue with that. Misplaced guilt could only be unravelled by reason, once you were willing to let it go. Stiles sowed the seed of reason. It was the best he could do. 

“What happened, how did you end up at the sanctuary with everyone thinking you were dead?” Stiles asked, desperately needing to know how one thing led to another. 

“When she saw me change it wasn’t like you saw, it was a different form, like halfway between a man and a wolf. It’s more frightening I think, and she was terrified. She told her father, and I think he helped her. Chris tried to warn us how crazy she was acting. My mother thought we would be fine, but Kate found things out somehow, how to kill us. She set the fire when Laura and I went to school for early morning practice. Your dad came to get us, he drove us out there because we both said we would run if he didn’t arrest us or take us out there.” Derek looked up at him like he wanted to make sure Stiles didn’t get angry at his fathers involvement. Derek had only seen a little of their relationship and it had been a very bad moment for both Stiles and his father. 

“It’s okay. I remember my dad was there,” Stiles assured him. 

“He tried to stop me. He hurt himself trying to stop me. Laura was too far away, sick in the back of his cruiser...” Derek trailed off, his eyes losing focus as he remembered what happened. “I couldn't handle it. I couldn’t believe it was real. I ran into the fire, and that’s the last thing I remember until I woke up in the burned out house a few days later. I changed completely. I was a wolf and I could let myself think like one. It’s like how I am now, but the opposite. Instead of being human with the wolf like a voice in my mind, I was a wolf and the human was a voice I could just ignore,” Derek explained. 

“They found you like that, in the house. Laura found you and you didn't change back, so she made the sanctuary,” Stiles said. 

“I wanted to die with them, but I didn’t know how. Laura wouldn’t let me. She tried so hard to get me to change back. I don't know how to tell her it almost worked. She’s still so mad at me. What I did wasn’t right. I hurt Laura and you,” Derek said, pressing his face into Stiles’ arm, his eyes drawn tight in regret. 

“Why me?” Stiles asked, unable to think of another question to save him from asking, finally. 

Derek closed his eyes, his mouth turning down like he was ashamed of the answer. “You talk to me the same, no matter what I look like.”

Stiles didn’t understand why that would upset Derek. “I talk more when you’re a wolf,” Stiles said, embarrassed when he looked back on the conversations, attempting to recall if he did talk to Sage the same way. Stiles thought all those conversations were actually with himself when he was having them. 

“You don’t expect me to talk back when I’m a wolf,” Derek gave him a weak half smile as he opened his eyes again. “From the first time I heard you talking to yourself in your Jeep I wanted to know who you were. Then you came back, and you talked to me more respectfully than you talked to yourself. You were polite to me, you forced me to think of myself as a person again because you saw me as one even though you didn't know you were doing it,” Derek explained. 

“You mean like subconsciously or something?” Stiles asked. 

“Sometimes certain people know things, they just feel it, like an instinct. Your dad is the same way,” Derek said. 

In the context of how his father worked, Stiles could see that. His dad always knew who was really guilty and who was just having a hard time. He acted like everyone’s dad to express his authority instead of being some asshole cop like most of the others. He wanted people to talk to him. He wanted to protect people and be trusted. What made his dad special was the fact that he knew how to get the job done. He always knew what to say and what to do, even if he said he was just guessing. 

“That’s probably the greatest compliment anyone has ever given me,” Stiles admitted, not knowing what else to say. What it meant to be compared to his father that way was overwhelming. It was more overwhelming that Derek saw it so clearly. 

“I think you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met in my life,” Derek said quietly. 

He didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t know Derek, but Derek knew him in a way no one else did, not even Scott. He never would have said most of the things he shared if he had really known, but there was no way to tell Derek that without being unnecessarily cruel. What was done, was done, and Stiles wouldn’t try take it back, not when it had done so much good in the end. His words had given Derek his life back. Stiles would humble himself the same way a thousand times if it saved someone’s life. 

“I don’t expect anything from you, except the chance to clean up the mess I’ve made. I don’t want you to be hurt because of this anymore.” Derek let go of his back, leaving a cold empty space behind as his fingers trailed over Stiles’ neck and cheek, his thumb dragging lightly over Stiles’ lower lip. “I won't lie to you about why I want to try, and why I came back, even if it ruins my chance. I love you and I want to make things better for you, if I can.” 

Derek took a deep breath like he was steeling himself to confess more devastating words. Stiles wanted to make him stop, tell him to be quiet and save whatever this was for later. He needed a chance to think about things, to understand how it was possible before he wrapped his head around what Derek was saying. 

“Will you let me take care of you?” Derek asked, his hands still on Stiles’ cheeks. 

Uneasy nervousness made him hyper aware of how close they were, how they were talking and what it probably meant to Derek. It didn’t mean the same thing to Stiles because he didn’t know this person at all. The bit of story wasn’t enough to know who Derek was, and it was all too much, too fast. Stiles wasn’t good enough at talking, or sharp enough to know how to say any part of what he was thinking without hurting Derek, and he refused to do that after Derek had risked so much. 

“I don't feel very good, and I’m not sure how...” Stiles trailed off, his plan to think of the right thing to say failing miserably. 

“I won’t fuck this up, I promise. I meant it when I said I don’t expect anything,” Derek promised. “We can go eat, sleep more. No more talking until you feel better.” 

Promising they didn’t have to talk anymore sold him just as much as the assurance Derek wouldn’t fuck it up. Stiles believed him, and if anyone knew how to take care of him, it was probably Derek. There was no good reason to say no that wasn’t justified by fear or insecurity. Stiles didn’t have enough willpower or clarity to make either of those things work for him. 

“I don't want to go downstairs, I can’t talk to either of them right now,” Stiles shook his head, exhausted just thinking about it. 

“I’ll get rid of them,” Derek said, abruptly letting him go and climbing to his feet. 

The closeness had hidden how incredibly naked Derek was. Though it wasn’t the first time he had seen all of the Hale glory, it was the first time he had a chance to take a good look. Derek had a giant swirled tattoo on his back that Stiles didn't remember seeing before. The rest of Derek was solid muscle, gigantic and beautiful like a greek sculpture. It wasn’t leering if you were fascinated, not turned on, at least thats what he told himself as he watched Derek move. 

“You said the suit was stupid. Is this better?” Derek asked hopefully. It took Stiles a moment to realize Derek had gone through Stiles drawers and put on a pair of his basketball shorts, and a white tee shirt that was a little too small for him. Derek either didn't remember how to be polite, or didn't think there were any boundaries between them. 

“They’ll ask why you changed,” Stiles said. Derek’s face fell as he glanced down at his crumpled suit on the floor. “It’s fine, you look fine,” Stiles assured him, not wanting to make him put the suit back on. Derek moved for the door and Stiles held up his hand, coming up with a vague plan to hold his dad off. Derek didn't need the hassle of his dad’s over protectiveness when nothing actually happened, no matter how slim the chance. “Tell them you were really uncomfortable in the suit and asked to change. My dad hates wearing them, he’ll accept that if they get too curious,” Stiles said. 

Derek nodded then he was gone. 

Looking around the room he realized what a mess it was, and what a mess he was. He let himself fall back on the floor, unwilling to hold himself up while his mind flooded with crisis. Who was Derek, and why did he want to be here? Stiles wasn’t entirely convinced he wasn’t dreaming still. This was something Stiles might dream up. A twisted, heartbroken fantasy man, unbelievable and totally in love with him. Something he might write about trying to make sense out of the things his mother said. She talked about wolf men once, how they came to talk with her while she slept, warning her about the sunrise or something like that. If she knew about werewolves, if she somehow sensed them because of her illness, maybe all the things she said did have meaning beyond what Stiles poetically assigned. 

He needed to clean up and get a meal inside him before he let himself think about anymore. He couldn’t believe he had let the entire conversation happen with Derek while he was gross and half out of his mind, but maybe that was why it was so believable. It was too gritty, humiliating, and awful, even for Stiles. He could barely imagine Derek being alive, and being a werewolf, let alone anything beyond that. The odd part of it was how he felt about Sage. Suddenly Sage was a shadow behind Derek, something Stiles didn’t see as an entity of it’s own anymore. He was more like an avatar in a game or a profile, and Derek was the real person behind it. 

That had to be good, that had to count for something. There was just enough relief in that hope to motivate Stiles to get off the floor. He picked up and folded the pile of suit, feeling the weight of a wallet and a phone in Derek’s pockets. Maybe he shouldn’t have looked, but he wanted to know things, even stuff Derek might not tell most people. It seemed fair. That’s what he told himself as he opened the wallet and found Derek’s license. It was an old picture from when he was sixteen. He looked almost exactly the same, but more chiseled. His middle name was Sage. It was an odd name. Stiles wondered what it meant, or if it was a family name like his own middle name. 

Derek’s phone was new, expensive, and empty. Stiles Stilinski was listed after Chris, Laura, and Erica in the contacts, that was all. The notepad had some data listed next to it in the app center, so Stiles pulled it up and read a few notes, simple stuff like ‘remember to say hello when you answer the phone’. There was also text in latin _non sibi sed sanguis_ but he had never studied latin. Then he found familiar words he didn't expect. 

_He sits by himself, in the back of the class, his hands shake when the teachers questions are asked, he lives alone and asks himself, how long can this last? They say you’re not alone. You’re not the sum of your mistakes, Children are strong they say, but they can’t heal broken bones. Don’t hide your face, you’re not the sum of their mistakes._

Derek remembered one of his poems, part of it at least. Of all the dozens of stupid poems he recited to Derek when he was Sage, this was the one he remembered. Stiles never felt connected to this poem. Sometimes that happened when he wrote. The words sounded good, but they fell flat and lifeless like this one had, until now. Maybe Stiles had known somehow. If he sensed it in every unbelievable thing Sage did, maybe everything he had done to himself since that day when Laura came to the sanctuary was nothing more than an attempt to reject it. It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t profound either, it was just sad and selfish. 

Leaving the poem open on the phone, because he didn't need to lie or hide his snooping, Stiles set it all down on top of the pile of suit. It was a strange, childish thing, Derek thinking he would look more presentable and human in a suit. Stiles wondered if Chris tried to talk him out of it, and how much Chris had to do with him being here to begin with. When he was Sage he worked tirelessly to be near Stiles. Everyone eventually gave in to the force of nature that was Sage, relenting reservations about letting him stay in the building when Stiles was on shift alone, letting Stiles care for him and take him for runs on the annex road. The one thing everyone was certain about was that Sage loved Stiles best. Derek loved him best. 

The better question might be how hard Chris worked to keep Derek away for so long, and how thankful Stiles was that Chris probably bought him enough time to to beat the fight out of himself. He wasn’t sure if he would have listened to Derek yesterday or the day before, if the punches he threw at the shower wall and at his dad would have landed on Derek instead. The thought made him sick, and he hadn’t even done it, but he could have. That day when Laura drove away, if Derek had come back and shown him then, he could have done a lot worse. Stiles was impulsive and too quick to feel threatened. He had good reasons, but they didn’t do him any favors. 

Needing to get out of his disgusting clothes and take a shower before he let himself go on another internal tangent, Stiles grabbed clothes and headed to the bathroom. On his way through the hall he overheard his dad and Chris talking intently. He recognized his dad’s negotiating voice, which wasn’t really for negotiation as much as listing off demands. He went to the top of the stairs to listen and Derek followed, moving to the bottom of the stairs so he could see Stiles. Derek wasn’t a part of the conversation, only the subject of it. Having been in the exact same position more than once, Stiles understood how much it sucked. At least Derek had Chris on his side, and that counted for a lot. 

Stiles pointed to the kitchen where his dad and Chris were arguing and shook his head in mock disappointment. Derek scrunched his face up like they smelled bad and nodded back. The expression wasn’t quite right, like Derek had meant to mimic him but fell a bit short. He tried to hold back a laugh, but it was funny and sort of cute. Derek’s face lit up with a grin, like making Stiles laugh was some kind of prize. At least Derek had the ability to tune them out and see the good parts about what was going down around him. 

Walking away with a smile on his face was as good as that moment could possibly get, so that’s what Stiles did. If the three of them couldn't work their shit out, they would still be there when he was done showering. If Derek couldn't manage his dad and Chris, there was no way he was going to be able to help Stiles with anything. Stiles was under no illusions, he was the difficult part of this scenario, not his father. 

Everything had been dumped on him like a giant pile of shit. Everyone else was part of what Derek was going through, but Stiles was the catalyst. Stiles was the one who had to sift through what Derek handed him, and try to understand it. He didn’t have to give his father or Chris anything more than basic decency. Feeling clean and rehydrated changed his perspective a lot though. He was far more acceptable to be around. If he could stand being around himself, maybe Derek and his father could too. 

The house was quiet when he stepped out into the hall, all the lights were on in his room. Derek was in his bed laying the wrong way, on his stomach with a pillow under his chin, reading a book. 

“Sandwich is for you,” Derek said, glancing up from Stiles' Captain America compendium. 

A pile of raw vegetables and a sandwich waited for him on a plate along with a huge glass of milk. Stiles was sure his dad hadn’t made it because his dad always gave him other stuff too, like pickles or chips. This looked just like what usually went in his lunch, without all the fruit. He always fed Sage most of his fruit because he liked it so much. 

“I do like fruit,” Stiles said, sitting down in his computer chair. 

Derek looked up at him, confused, like he wasn't sure what Stiles meant then he smiled. “Right, you want me to get you anything else?” Derek asked. 

“No, I just figured I’d start in on some of the misconceptions, you know, steamroll right through those.” Stiles picked up the glass of milk. “Like this. I haven’t used a glass to drink milk for almost a decade. It surprises the shit out of me that you would use one and not just bring me the gallon. But normal people do this, not drink from the gallon like a cave man.” 

“Are you saying you’re surprised I have better manners than you do?” Derek grinned, understanding Stiles’ attempt at humor perfectly. 

“No, I’m saying you shouldn’t be surprised to find out I have far worse manners than you do and I’ve been using forks for the last eight years.” Stiles smiled because he made Derek laugh enough to shake his bed. It was a pretty spectacular sight. “How did you get rid of them?” Stiles asked. 

“I promised your room would be clean and you would be back to normal by the time they got back,” Derek said, putting the Captain America book down. 

“That’s a pretty big promise,” Stiles said. 

“You’re acting normal now, and I already cleaned your room,” Derek said. 

Looking around, Stiles realized his room was much cleaner. He hadn't noticed because he was too focused on other things. “I guess you’re right,” Stiles said, wondering what Derek found under the dirty clothes and soda bottles. 

Everything about Derek reminded Stiles he was a relatively normal kid until he was sixteen years old. There was a possibility that Derek was only pretending to be a relatively normal kid back then, but he didn’t seem like he was hiding anything now, he hadn’t back then either. He was outgoing, but he was also engaging and kind. He had only been a couple years younger than Stiles was currently. 

“Your dad left with Chris to get a beer. He said you would know where he was,” Derek said. “He already sent you a text. I waited for a few minutes but then I messaged him. I copied an old message of yours and resent it.” 

“That’s smart, thanks,” Stiles said after finishing off the milk. 

He respected the complicity. Scott would definitely do the same thing. Maybe less clever though. He picked up the sandwich and took a tentative bite, not sure of he could finish it. 

“You should ask me things,” Derek blurted out, sitting up on the bed. 

Stiles held his finger up while he finished chewing, “I haven’t eaten anything but sugar for a couple days, so if you want good conversation you should just keep reading that book. Start in the back. The Winter Soldier summary,” Stiles suggested. 

Derek picked up the book and flipped to the back, glancing up at Stiles curiously. He started reading and fell back down again on the pillow. After he finished the summary he found the pages that started the Winter Soldier story. Stiles watched him read. His eyes moved quickly over the words then soaked in the pictures like someone who had spent time reading comics. Eventually he turned on his back, holding the book above his head as he read through the second issue. 

Twenty five years old was probably too old to be reading comics so enthusiastically. Derek had about six years on Stiles, but he acted like he was much younger. He had turned off his human side for all those years. Stiles wondered if it was hard for Derek to get himself back when he was Sage, or if it had trickled in bit by bit until Derek was Derek again. Until he had to change to keep from going crazy. In his shoes Stiles would have gone crazy not being able to talk, especially if he loved someone and couldn’t do anything to show or tell them. 

Loving Lydia Martin from afar for so many years had been hard enough, and he was able to express himself. He wooed her with strange and questionable tactics, so she would be more confused than freaked out if she didn't reciprocate. Unfortunately she never understood, or she was too good at pretending she didn’t understand what he was doing for Stiles to tell the difference. Even with his heart on the line, when he was absolutely sure he would be rejected, he still found a way to express how he felt. 

“Does it feel okay, being you again?” Stiles asked, trying not to sound too much like one of his many therapists. 

Derek looked up from the book like he was surprised Stiles asked the question. “No, not most of the time. I feel better here than I have anywhere else, but I don't know what to do with myself out there,” Derek admitted easily. 

It felt strange that Derek was so honest with him, but from his point of view they were already good friends. 

“What would make you happy right now?” Stiles asked, hoping it was something he could give Derek that wasn’t uncomfortable. He deserved to be happy as much as Stiles could manage. 

Derek dropped the book and pulled himself up on the bed again, sitting cross legged with the pillow on his lap. He folded his hands and rubbed his fingers over his knuckles like he had done before. “I don't know if I can do happy, but I’m worried you’re not okay. I’m worried you don’t trust me and you won’t like me. If I didn’t feel that way anymore, it would be better.” 

Thankful, Stiles smiled. “I like you. I don’t know who the hell could listen to you talk the way you do and not like you. You’re a likable person,” Stiles assured him. 

Derek smiled, looking at his hands, his ears turning a devastating shade of pink that Stiles didn’t expect. Not from someone as forthright as Derek was. 

“And I’ll be fine. I don't understand a lot, but I just need a minute to catch up. I believe you’ll be honest with me, and that makes things easier. I don't feel like I have to ask all the questions at once"

"What kind of questions?"

"Like if you’re the only kind of preternatural being in Beacon Hills,” Stiles said, not intending to actually ask. 

“Far from it,” Derek answered, not realizing his question was hypothetical. “Your friend Lydia is a banshee and one of your dads deputies is something, not sure what. The pizza guy at Bellagios is a werewolf, so is a kid in your graduating class, Jackson Whittemore. And you used to go to school with my sister Cora, who was a werewolf too--” 

“Stop... Stop, please.” Stiles held his hand up, trying to make absolutely certain Derek would stop talking 

Adrenaline surged in his gut. Lydia Martin and Jackson Whittemore. His stomach lurched, already stressed from the milk and food after not eating for so long. The urgent pain of nausea spiked in his throat and he ran for the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before his stomach emptied itself violently. 

Cool hands ran over his neck and shoulders, somehow making the aching sick, pain in his head throb less. He reached up to flush the toilet and the hands disappeared. He shut the lid to lean against it, making an attempt to get himself up when Derek’s hand hooked under his arm and pulled him to his feet effortlessly. A cold washcloth touched his face, but he made himself open his eyes and take it from Derek’s hand. Derek looked surprised, but let Stiles have it.. 

“Sorry, used to taking care of a little sister. Sometimes I get kinda mom like. Laura says it’s annoying.” Derek tried to smile but Stiles could tell he was unhappy with how he acted, probably embarrassed. 

Derek raised his hand and brushed his fingers lightly over Stiles’ temple. The dull, aching persistent thud of blood in his ears lessened again. Derek’s fingers felt cool and electric on his skin. Shadows moved in his peripheral vision near Derek’s hand. When he focused on them they turned into long, spidery black veins traveling over Derek’s skin. He jerked back, his eyes fixed on Derek’s hand and the veins vanished. Immediately the ache in his forehead and neck came back, not as strong as before, but strong enough to be uncomfortable. 

“What was that?” Stiles asked. 

Derek pursed his lips and sighed like he was frustrated with Stiles and his question. He grabbed the side of Stiles’ head and pulled him back again. The pain drained away, Derek’s cold fingers emanated relief. The sensation was strong and disorienting. His head swimming with vertigo, his body felt like rubber. His aching ribs and back were suddenly floating and his stomach was calm. The black veins ran all the way down Derek’s arm until he was drunk and lightheaded with relief. When Derek let go of him his head fell forward involuntarily. 

Pain and discomfort had been the only thing keeping him on his feet, but it was all gone. Stiles was overwhelmingly tired. It was like his skeleton had been removed and he was nothing but a lifeless pile of flesh and confusion. They moved together, Derek holding him up, through the hall into Stiles’ room. Derek dropped him on his bed and crawled in next to him, picking up the Captain America book before he shoved a pillow under Stiles’ head. 

Keeping his eyes open felt important, but he didn’t know why. He wanted to ask what Derek had done, but Stiles didn't think he would retain anything Derek said anyways. It was clear enough Derek had fixed him somehow. Stripped away all the garbage that should have taken days to wear off, if it ever really did, and left him empty. Derek opened the book where he left off and started reading again, laying on his back with the book held over his head. 

“You can do that for a long time,” Stiles said quietly. “Your arms don't get tired.” 

“No, they don’t,” Derek answered. 

“That’s weird,” Stiles said, letting his eyes close for just a second. 

“Maybe for you,” Derek said. He sounded like he was smiling. 

Snarky and smiling. That was better than worried, that was good. He didn't open his eyes. 

When he woke up the room was dark. Derek was curled up facing him, his hand wrapped around Stiles’ forearm oddly. Stiles wondered if he had done the pain draining thing more than once as he slept. His head didn't hurt and his body felt good, like the sleep he got actually counted for something. His eyes weren't gritty, but his mouth felt like death. He pulled his hand away and Derek’s eyes opened. 

Derek held his finger to his lips, telling Stiles to be quiet. Stiles listened for evidence of anything worth being quiet for and heard the slam of a car door. His dad coming home had probably woken Stiles up. A few moments later the front door opened, the sound of his dad’s keys rattling in the door echoed through the whole house. His dad and Chris sounded at least mildly intoxicated if not completely drunk. 

As they made their way up the stairs Stiles discerned his father was the very drunk one. Chris was just a little buzzed, but far too inebriated to be driving, which is exactly what it sounded like they had just done. Stiles turned his head to yell at them as they passed his door when Derek pressed his fingers against Stiles’ lips to keep him quiet until they had passed by and went to his dad’s room. 

Stiles pulled Derek's hand away, opening his mouth to speak when Derek interrupted him. 

"Shh, they're arguing about us," Derek whispered. 

Stiles couldn't hear anything, not even when he held his breath. "How can you hear that?" Stiles asked. 

"I can hear a lot more if you're quiet.... " Derek said, sounding annoyed. Oddly, Derek brushed his fingers over Stiles' eyes, closing them. He peeked quickly at Derek, who looked like he was asleep. Then his door opened and light from the hall flooded his room. 

"See, I told you," Chris whispered. 

"But they're..." his dad whispered back. 

"They're grown up and they can do whatever they want," Chris countered before his dad could say anything stupid. 

His dad let out a long, dramatic, defeated sigh because he was drunk and overly emotional. Then his door shut, all the way this time, and they were left alone. 

“Chris is going to regret that,” Stiles whispered. 

“Because he’s crying?” Derek asked. 

His father was crying? “I have never been so thankful in my life that I don’t have superpowers.” Stiles closed his eyes and shook his head, incredibly grateful he couldn’t hear his fathers stress induced emotional breakdown. 

It was bad enough knowing he was mostly the cause of it. The more he thought about it, the more worthless and awful he felt. A heavy, gentle hand distracted him from his thoughts. Derek wrapped an arm around him and closed the space between them, maneuvering Stiles until he was using Derek’s chest as a pillow. His slow, steady heartbeat was comforting and easy to focus on. Stiles didn’t know when the uneasiness of being close to Derek disappeared, but it was gone. He shouldn’t have felt so comfortable with someone he barely knew, but Derek was just as much a force of nature as he ever was, no matter what he looked like. 

It wasn’t just easy to bend to Derek’s desires, Stiles wanted to. He wanted to give Derek the things he asked for because they were good, gratifying things to give someone, and Derek appreciated them openly. Derek’s ability to collude and adapt was more impressive than Scott’s, which was really saying something. Derek pushed all the right buttons. Maybe he knew that he was doing it, but his actions felt genuine. Even if he was trying to make Stiles happy, no one had ever put that much effort into anything for Stiles before, except maybe his parents. Stiles refused to fault or ignore Derek’s efforts no matter where they came from or how he figured things out. Stiles had done the same thing, but he had offered himself to someone who never wanted him to begin with. Stiles wasn’t sure how he felt, but he was sure he didn’t want to reject Derek. 

Stiles was thankful he understood Derek at all.


	5. What Does Normal Mean Anyways?

Hangover coffee the next morning turned into negotiations for Stiles to go back to work. Chris explained that everyone except the night crew knew about Sage and Derek now. Deaton had known all along. Stiles wasn’t walking back into a place where he would have to pretend and lie everyday, so he agreed to go back in a couple days and try to make life normal again. 

His dad watched Derek with an odd kind of fascination, asking too many questions about all the supernatural things in town as Derek made eggs and toast for everyone. Derek answered every question his dad had the same way he answered Stiles’ question, with much the same effect. Except his dad didn’t throw up, he only looked like he wanted to. When his dad refused the plate Derek set down in front of him he went on to complain about the self inflicted headache he was nursing. Stiles couldn't bring himself to feel bad for his dad, not after the drinking and driving stunt he and Chris pulled the night before.

Derek loomed over his dad, looking at him like he was debating easing his pain like he had done for Stiles until Stiles spoke up. “Don’t do it, he deserves to suffer,” he said obnoxiously, sure Derek was going to do it anyways. He wanted to get his hits in before Derek talked him into it. 

“Me?” his dad asked, like he was surprised to be the subject of the mildly confusing conversation. 

“He can do this weird thing that takes away your pain, on top of all the other superpowers he has. But you got yourself drunk so you should suffer,” Stiles explained, resolute in his conviction that his dad’s headache was nothing more than a lesson.

“You made yourself sick too,” Derek pointed out far too diplomatically. 

Stiles narrowed his eyes, glaring at Derek over his coffee mug. Maybe he wasn't as good at colluding as Stiles thought he was. Derek smiled, recognizing the thinly veiled contempt as a kind of victory. Derek was far too smart for his own good, and proud of himself for calling Stiles out on the hypocrisy. 

Offering his hand, Derek waited for a reaction. His father looked over at him and Stiles shrugged, not willing to give him the satisfaction of encouragement. He sighed, and took Derek’s hand reluctantly. After the initial surprise of feeling better, his dad marveled at the black veins that pulsed up Derek's arm the same way Stiles had. 

“Damn, that’s better than a couple aspirin for sure. Thanks, kid,” his dad smiled and Derek lit up with happiness. His enthusiasm was a little disgusting, but Derek was so happy Stiles kept his mouth shut. 

Chris set a glass of water down in front of his dad and told him to drink it all before sitting down to eat himself. His dad and Chris dominated the conversation, talking about them and the things that happened like he and Derek weren’t even there half the time. Stiles motioned for Derek to follow him after a while and they went out to the living room to play video games and hang out. If they were going to treat he and Derek like children, they were going to exploit the lack of respect and act like kids. 

It had been a long time since someone handed him his ass in Halo, but Stiles could respected the skill, even if Derek insisted he was cheating with the superhuman reflexes he couldn't really turn off. A person could only push buttons so fast. Derek was good at playing video games, like Stiles was. After a while Chris asked Derek if they could leave. Stiles followed Derek up to his room to get his stuff. 

“Gimme your phone,” Derek asked, holding his hand out. 

Stiles fished it out of his pocket and handed it over without question. Derek thumbed through screens and typed things, then pulled Stiles close and snapped a picture of the two of them. He handed the phone back and all of Derek’s contact information was filled out. He had an address here in town that Stiles recognized as the industrial district, which seemed odd, but there were a few lofts and apartment buildings down there. Not nice ones, but maybe it was quiet at night or something.

“Thanks,” Stiles said as Derek held his phone up, snapping what was probably a terrible picture of Stiles alone. 

Turning the phone around, Derek showed him the photo for approval, proving how polite he actually was. The giant birds nest of hair and the four day old patchy scruff made him look like he didn't give a fuck, but it wasn't as terrible as Stiles expected. He nodded, looking back at his own phone, and the picture on his screen. Derek looked happy and he looked dazed and confused, which was probably as apt as it was going to get. Invading his space suddenly, Derek hugged him tight, then kissed him on the cheek. Before Stiles had a chance to react or reciprocate, Derek was gone. 

He stood in the middle of his room listening to Derek leave with Chris, wondering exactly what it was he had gotten himself into. Later, when he was laying on his bed thumbing through the Winter Soldier story, his dad came up and knocked on the door even though it was open. Stiles looked up, his gut immediately reacting to the ‘we need to talk’ expression his dad was wearing. 

“I’m sorry for hitting you,” Stiles blurted out, sitting up in bed quickly. 

“No, that’s not--thank you son, but you weren’t really all there, I know you didn't mean it,” his dad assured him. “Do you want to talk to me about this whole, Derek Hale thing?” his dad asked, looking mildly uncomfortable. 

“Sort of, but not when you make that face,” Stiles admitted. 

“Sorry, maybe I’m not the best person to talk to. Chris said I have unhealthy opinions about the whole werewolf thing, but what the hell am I supposed to think?” his dad asked, expressing how lost and stunned he was. 

It was different for his dad. The revelation there were creatures out there that defied the laws of nature complicated his job as Sheriff in a way that was going to be difficult for his dad to reconcile. His dad protected the county, now he had to figure out how to keep doing job well and not seem like a crazy person. Stiles recognized the struggle, and agreed his dad was busy with his own problems and wouldn’t be such a great sounding board in this case. Stiles was invested in life working out in Derek's favor though.

“Think that he’s a person first, everything else comes second. Just like an addict, a protective father, or an asshole business owner with a vendetta against skate punks. They’re all capable of being monsters for bad reasons, and for good ones,” Stiles pointed out. 

His dad thought about it for a minute and nodded. “You always did understand the job better than Chris,” his dad said. “This conversation isn’t going exactly how I imagined, but thank you.” 

Stiles shrugged, not willing to take credit for repeating something his dad had taught him, conveniently. 

“So, maybe don’t talk to me yet, let me think about this more, but talk to Chris, or maybe Erica at your work? She seems nice,” his dad asked. 

“I will,” Stiles nodded. 

It was enough for his dad to know he would ask for help if he needed it. He left looking less concerned than he showed up looking, which was a win as far as Stiles was concerned.


	6. Day Dreaming For My Own Salvation

Staring at the ceiling while he tried to sleep was nothing new for Stiles, but having such oddly exciting and terrifying things to think about was. His life has been flipped over and infused with a strange sensation of potential. It came with an epic fuckton of baggage, but Stiles was almost certain the good parts would equal or outweighed the baggage if it all worked out in the end. That was the best anyone could ask for out of life and the shit it threw at you. 

He couldn’t help daydreaming about what it would be like to be with Derek. Stiles daydreamed about everything. Every therapist he ever had told him the daydreaming was a way to relieve stress, and not a problem he should try to erase. With the Adderall his ADHD became a footnote in his existence instead of the thing that defined him as a person. The hyperactive daydreaming little shit that no one could stand to be around wasn't a problem anymore. But the waking fantasies he had cultivated, the epic scenarios he played out in his head all day, felt good and exciting still. Better than real life sometimes. 

That was the thing about his daydreaming, some of it was wish fulfillment fantasy, but a lot of it was just projections of conversations he thought he should have, or bad news he was afraid of getting. Sometimes he played out how to tell his dad something--like how he wasn’t straight--over and over in his head. Stiles tested the theory that his dad probably wouldn't care until he was sure of it. He had been right about that. He imagined what it would be like to say yes to Derek, and what it would be like to say no. Mostly he imagined what he needed to say about all of it, the things he needed to be sure of before anything happened. 

He also imagined what Derek was like, how he probably felt about things, but that was dangerous territory. He built Lydia Martin up in his head that way, turning her into a caricature of herself. It stayed that way until he had the chance to spend time with the real Lydia. She was so much better than the fantasy in his head, and he respected her more. The daydream that hurt the most though was imaging being able to go away somewhere, leaving all the complications and baggage behind. Having time to get to know Derek between just the two of them, but that wouldn’t work. Derek had to be in his life so he could figure out who he was, or he wouldn’t have much to share that wasn’t recycled shit from his misspent youth. Derek might not have any idea who he was now without Sage's life to fall back on. 

Light from his phone flashing and reflecting on his headboard distracted Stiles from his thoughts. He read the message on the lock screen without opening it. It was Derek asking him to open his window. He got up and unlocked it, sliding it open and looking at the ground to see where Derek was. Unexpectedly, Derek slid through the open window, narrowly avoiding knocking Stiles on his ass. 

“What the hell?” Stiles asked, surprised Derek had gotten all the way up to his window without giving himself away at all. 

“Sorry,” Derek smiled, not looking like he meant it in the least. 

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asked. 

“Oh, Laura made me come. I’m miserable and I can't sleep because I'm thinking about you. She said she was going to murder me if I kept pacing in front of the door. She gave me her keys.” Derek smiled like he had swindled them somehow, but Stiles suspected Laura got the easy end of the bargain. 

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked, ignoring the excitement spilling out of Derek in favor of the being miserable part he just shared. 

“I’m... “ Derek looked down like he was thinking about his answer, then he gripped the keys tight and settled back on the window sill. “I guess it depends on if I can stay,” he said quietly. 

Of course Derek assumed Stiles wanted him here. In the world Derek knew Stiles fought just as hard for them to be around each other as Derek did, but this was different. It had nothing to do with anything Derek already understood about how his world worked. 

“Yes, you can stay, but you have to start acting like this is a new thing. You have to ask. It’s okay if you know things, but--”

“No, I get it... Obviously, I get it,” Derek said, his face tightening into a frustrated scowl. 

“Not obviously. I don’t know what you mean, and I don’t want to make you mad,” Stiles said. 

“I’m not the same, I can;t assume you think of me the same because I obviously don't want you too” Derek said, looking up at Stiles sharply like it was somehow his fault. In a way it was, but he was certain Derek understood the finer points of the situation. Stiles raised his eyebrows and held his hands up, asking for more explanation. Derek’s expression softened. He hung his head low and let his shoulders drop. “It’s humiliating,” Derek said, like it was an explanation. 

It was the start of an explanation, but not one Stiles thought he could push. He dropped his hands and let out a long, frustrated sigh. He couldn’t press Derek to explain something that humiliated him, all Stiles could do was wait and see if he said more. Derek sucked in a breath sharply and rubbed his face, like he was experiencing uncomfortable thoughts. He clutched the keys in his hand tightly, then looked at them thoughtfully. Stiles reached out and took the keys, dropping them on his desk to make it clear Stiles wanted him to stay without using words. Words were the source of Derek's frustration, there was no point in making it worse. 

Derek still wasn’t looking at him, but he wasn’t looking at the keys either. “It’s humiliating you met me that way, and that you got to know me like that first,” he said quietly. Stiles couldn’t pretend he understood why Derek felt that way. He could guess, but it was pointless to try. “I didn’t expect you to show up, obviously," Derek continued. "I know you’ll never really see me any other way. I understand it, but I feel sick sometimes thinking about how I ruined everything. I’m making mistakes all the time with you, and Laura, but I was never that good at talking to people to begin with. I don't know how to fix it. I don't mean to be a pain in your ass. I’m sorry,” Derek admitted like he was giving up. 

“You’re not--Jesus, how can you be that smart as Sage and this clueless as Derek?” Stiles scoffed, unsure how to take Derek’s wild swing at insecurity. 

There was a whole host of other points he could dig up about Derek’s big confession, like how bad Stiles was at relating to people, or how dumb it was to think he should be good at dealing with such an impossible situation, but those points he kept to himself because there were already enough words flying around. 

“How am I clueless?” Derek asked, honing in on the one thing Stiles said that was hopeful. As upset as Derek looked, he was still optimistic. 

“I know who you are. I get it. Sage is gone. He disappeared in my head once I knew it was you. Sage is like an avatar, sort of. He was never what I assumed he was. I had no problem understanding that,” Stiles explained, but Derek looked confused still. “You know like online games, you make your avatar and you see other people with the same kind of avatars, but the voice over chat never really matches? You build this person in your mind to fill the void, but you still see the avatar when you think of them. It’s just some dumb, cartoon face. A placeholder till you get to see the real thing, if you ever do. You never matched up quite right when you were Sage. You were always you. There was always something more I knew I wasn't getting.” 

“You called me weird all the time,” Derek said like he was recalling the evidence, trying to wrap his brain around the explanation. “I guess I didn’t make a very good wolf either.” Derek sounded like he felt sorry for himself. 

“No, you were really fucking bad at it,” Stiles agreed, not willing to let Derek entertain his self pity. “The other wolves hated you, they didn't want to play with you. They all thought you were a big, scary enigma. On the other hand, you made a pretty great friend. Look at how well you took care of Erica, and how good of a listener you were.” 

Derek cringed a little, like Stiles reminded him of something unpleasant, but his expression softened as he let the’ words sink in. “Can I tell you how I ended up there?” Derek asked. 

“You did already,” Stiles reminded him. 

“No, I mean how I ended up staying. You don't think I could have left anytime I wanted?” Derek asked. 

“I assumed you wanted to stay there.” Stiles never considered otherwise. Discomfort and uneasiness sparked in his chest as he considered the possibilities, how and who might have forced Derek to stay. Deaton was the only one who already knew besides Laura. Derek hated Deaton. Stiles already didn't like where the facts were taking him. 

“No, I wanted to be at home. I still feel the pull to go out there all the time, but Laura says it’s mostly overgrown except the basements. I tried to leave constantly in the beginning.” 

“How did they keep you there?” Stiles asked, worried about what Derek was going to tell him, but needing to hear it regardless of how bad it was. 

Even in the low light from the street lamps outside Stiles could make out how much Derek struggled deciding how to tell his story. Stiles recognized it for what it was, he felt the same every time someone asked about the gun incident at school. Especially if it was someone he felt like he owed an explanation to. It wasn’t Stiles’ fault, but so many awful, humiliating things happened to him because of it, eventually he felt like it was. 

It didn't take long before Stiles was apologizing for making other people feel uncomfortable when they heard about it, like it was somehow his fault that they were inconvenienced by an unfortunate incident he literally had no control over. It was bullshit, and Stiles wasn’t sorry anymore. It hadn’t happened to everyone else, it happened to him. It took a long time for Stiles to understand that. He didn’t want to make Derek suffer the same way. In a perfect world Derek would tell everyone to fuck off and leave it alone, but Derek had offered his story up to Stiles. He wanted to tell it, maybe he needed to. 

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” Stiles said, just in case Derek thought he did. 

“I know,” Derek responded, too quickly. But Stiles didn't think it was because he was lying. It was because he was uncomfortable. He didn’t feel safe. 

Not feeling safe was no mystery to him either. Scott was the only thing standing between him and total annihilation most days in high school, before the gun incident. After, Stiles was put in a lot of positions where he felt very unsafe with and without Scott. Imagining Derek felt the same way, here in his room, made Stiles sick with shame. Scott would have had his arms around Derek already. He would have said simple, easy things to make it okay to talk about anything, but Stiles was distant. He was protecting himself first because he was worried what things like hugs might mean to Derek.

Stiles was hurting Derek. Denying him the friendship they both wanted because he was afraid of hypothetically hurting Derek. Stiles was the one who was bad at relating, maybe they were both really bad at it, but they were smart enough to figure a few things out before it ruined them. Stiles did what Scott would do for him because it was easy. He wrapped Derek up in hug and didn’t consider letting go until Derek relaxed against him. Burying his face against Stiles’ neck, Derek’s arms circled his waist. His hands sneaked inside Stiles’ shirt to grip against bare skin right above his waistband. Stiles was about to back off, when Derek started talking. 

There was no way he could have prepared himself for what Derek told him. How Laura tortured him, restraining him, fighting him. She tried to break him, to get Derek to bend to her will. When she failed she set Dr. Deaton on the task, who was apparently an important person to the Hale pack. He knew a lot more about everything than Stiles ever suspected. Laura threatened to take Derek to someone else, so Deaton threw away his ethics. Maybe he was only trying to make sure Derek didn’t get subjected to worse things, but Stiles couldn’t imagine how he would justify what Derek described. 

Being electrocuted, poisoned, drugged, starved, and caged. All because Laura wanted him to change back, and Derek didn't want to. Stiles couldn’t imagine what Deton and Laura thought they would get if Derek had changed back under those circumstances. They were lucky Derek didn’t go feral. Maybe he had at one time, but he wasn’t now. Now he was good, kind and quiet. It was even more of a miracle now that Stiles understood what he had been through. 

After they gave up trying to change him, they tortured him further to make sure Derek understood he had no choice but to stay. When he ran away he was brought back by paid hunters more than once. They used something Derek called mountain ash to keep him inside the sanctuary for years, confined to a space that was too small for a wolf to live in. They kept all of it secret from Chris, who thought Sage just had medical issues and a tendency to run off sometimes. From Chris’s point of view it was the wolf that acted odd, not the people. Still, Derek refused to change back, not even to have a voice to protect himself. 

“The harder she fought me, the more it became about being in control than hiding,” Derek admitted. “I knew the second I let myself be human again I would lose the only control I had. I couldn’t trust her anymore and everyone else was gone.” 

“She didn’t care about what was best for you, she cared about getting her way.” Stiles hated Laura and Deaton a lot more than he probably should. Derek didn't seem to hate them at all. 

“I think she wanted me back because I was the only one left. She felt like I betrayed her. She was right. I did,” Derek said, turning his head on Stiles’ shoulder. 

“You’re not--it’s not all on you Derek. It’s so much more complicated than that. They made everything a hundred times worse. I’ve only known you for a little while and I already know how stupid it was. You don’t break. You hardly even compromise unless you really want something,” Stiles assured him, hoping he could see how unfair and misguided all of it was. 

“I hate him,” Derek admitted, his voice rising. He took a deep breath and looked up at Stiles, pleading to be understood. “Sometimes I hate him so much I’m sorry I never killed him because I could have back then. I can’t now, but I could have.” The confession poured out of Derek like a waterfall of misery. His eyes were glassy, pooling with frustration as he admitted what was probably his worst secret. 

“I felt the same way about Jackson Whittemore plenty of times.” Finally saying it out loud to someone felt strange, but if anyone was going to understand it was Derek. It was a truth he denied so many times Stiles almost believed the lie. 

“Jackson is my cousin.” Derek told him like he was admitting he was related to a serial killer. “The first time you said his name I thought you couldn’t possibly be talking about the same person, but he sounds just like Peter. He was like Jackson for a couple years before the fire. He used to be cool, but he changed.” 

“Holy shit, Jackson is adopted. Peter is his dad?” Stiles asked. Jackson being a werewolf had to come from somewhere, being related to Peter actually made sense. 

“Yeah, he told me once about Jackson’s mom. Then we saw her in town and she acted like she had no idea who Peter was. Peter was convinced something happened to her and found out about Jackson somehow. I was young at the time so he didn’t tell me a lot, but I know the name,” Derek said. “Just because he’s related to me doesn’t mean anything. He’s a Hale so that pretty much defines him as a giant bag of dicks. Everyone was, except Cora.” 

“You aren’t,” Stiles argued. 

“Aren’t I?” Derek drawled sarcastically, his expression dark and unamused. 

“When you say it like that, yeah, I think I remember you running with a crowd that resembled a bunch of dickbags, but I don’t see much of that now,” Stiles reminded him. 

“That’s because I like you,” Derek said quietly, reminding Stiles his hands were splayed out across his bare skin by gripping his back tighter. 

The ache that had been building in Stiles’ chest as he listened to Derek talk melted away like slow honey. The sweetness that chased away the tension made his lungs feel heavy and his arms feel weak. His hands moved over Derek’s wide shoulders, tracing the soft cotton of his tee shirt. Stiles wished he could see Derek’s face better in the low light, but he didn’t need to see him well to tell Derek was hopeful and afraid at the same time. Stiles had no idea if it was the right thing to do, but he didn’t really care anymore. Everything was so fucked up and complicated, but touching him in a way they both liked was simple, easy. 

His lips were warm on Derek’s forehead. His cheek tasted like salt even though the few frustrated tears that spilled down them earlier were dry. Derek’s lips were soft and still under his Derek pulled him close, closing the space between them. Derek kissed him back, his hands far more brave than his lips as they moved up his back then down to his ass. Rising from his seat on the window sill, Derek held him close as he crowded Stiles backward, moving closer to the bed. Derek fell over, taking Stiles with him. He ended up on his back with Stiles half draped over him, which was exactly where Stiles wanted to be. Slow, sweet kisses and soft, pliant lips lingered against his like Derek wanted him to do more, but Stiles wasn't sure how to go further, or if it was a good idea. That was until Derek’s hand slid down his back, resting just inside his waistband. He was about to guide Derek's hand lower when it suddenly retreated. 

Derek let go of him completely and put just enough space between them to speak. “We should go steal the Ben and Jerry’s your dad has hidden in the freezer and play Call of Duty,” Derek whispered with a bright grin. 

“Are you serious?” Stiles asked, unsure if he heard right or if he was finally losing it, again. 

“Maybe,” Derek said, kissing Stiles again, but too quickly. His eyes darted across Stiles lips and his hand moved over Stiles hand and arm softly. There was an unmistakable glint of guilt in Derek's expression. 

“Oh, you’re rejecting me.” Stiles breathed out a bitter laugh, pressing his face against Derek’s chest as the painful, aching realization punched him in the gut harder that he could have ever prepared for. 

“I’m not,” Derek protested sharply. 

“Oh, yes you are. Because I’ve never done this and of course you have.” Stiles got up, moving away quickly to kneel on his bed. He wasn’t mad, but he wasn’t going to pretend he was okay. Derek stared back at him guiltily, his shirt bunched halfway up his chest until he realized Stiles was looking at him. His hand darted up and pulled his shirt down self consciously. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, but don’t bullshit me. That’s why,” Stiles pressed. 

“It’s more complicated than that, but that’s part of it,” Derek admitted, not looking that sorry anymore. 

Stiles got up and walked off the bed, heading to his door as he talked. Derek followed close behind. “Fine. Let’s go ruin John the Traitor’s ice cream stash and play CoD. That’s a pretty normal date for me, so you know, I won’t be clueless and lost doing that at least.” 

“Stiles there was something else.” Derek sounded concerned, but Stiles didn’t care. He was fine. 

Totally fine. He wasn't going to drown himself in the sharp, ironic turn around when he had been so willing to put space between them only a few minutes ago for the exact same reasons. “Save it. You want to play games, we’ll play games.” 

Derek followed silently, like he knew the snark was all for show. Making out with him, and wherever else they had been headed, was stupid and too fast, no matter how either of them felt. Stiles was an asshole for initiating it, and much to Derek’s credit, he stopped the train wreck before it took them both down. Stiles split the ice cream and doled it into two bowls, swimming in embarrassment and shame as every bit of false influence and authority he wrongfully thought he had vanished like a puff of smoke.


	7. Lessons In Awkward Love From the Master Herself

“I don’t know. I spend time with him almost every day if that counts for anything. He got me up at six this morning to go for a run because he’s kind of an asshole, but I don’t know anything besides what I already told you,” Stiles said to Erica as he hacked up half frozen elk meat. 

It really did cut easier when it was still a bit icy, like Erica taught him. They set up the meals earlier, covered them and let them thaw for a bit before they took them out now. It spread out the work, made it a little less stressful for Erica. Every little bit helped nowadays. 

“It’s been a month since accidental assgrabbing, make-out awkwardness. Don't you think you should make a fucking move already?” Erica snarled as she hacked into a leg bone. 

It was good he knew her so well now. He smiled because he understood how cathartic it was to lay into butchering raw meat that way now. Half of the shit she said before made her sound disinterested and rude. It was actually a very Erica brand of sarcasm. Stiles found it comforting now. The snarliness meant she cared. 

“I proved right out the gate how bad of a navigator I am, so fuck it. He’s steering the ship till I know for sure where we’re headed.” Stiles stood by his conviction. It was a conviction Scott had significantly helped him build, but Stiles owned it now. 

Scott didn’t know any more than the rest of Beacon Hills, just that Derek Hale had returned. The story they all told was that he ran into the fire and escaped out the back entrance of the basement, then ran away in grief and confusion. Everyone refused to provide more details than that, which made the local news very curious. But most people assumed he lived on the streets for the last eight years. It explained away the lack of interest in pop culture and Derek's consistent desire to never, ever use utensils. 

Scott didn't question any of it, except why he came to Stiles to begin with. The rationale behind going to the wolf sanctuary ten miles out of town to have someone call your sister didn't make sense to Scott. Stiles regretted telling him that part, but he let it go when Stiles pointed out that he was upset, and people who were upset did weird, irrational things. 

“You’re full of shit,” Erica said, pointing the butcher knife at him in a way that should have felt threatening. “We’re going to Friday’s tonight and I’m getting you drunk. We all know how handsy you get when you’re drunk.” Erica sounded like she was joking, but Stiles suspected she was totally serious. 

“That was one time, and I told Boyd I was sorry,” Stiles sighed. 

Living down the events of the big fundraiser a couple weeks ago was high on his list of priorities still. He was legitimately afraid Boyd would never look him in the eye again. Picnic With the Wolves was an annual event they held in the parking lot every year. Barbeque, donations and open tours all day. They also had a brewery sponsor this year, and enough beer to float a boat. So, Stiles took it as a personal challenge to finish it off when Derek never showed up. He said he would try. Maybe he did, but Stiles never saw the effort, just the empty seat next to him where Derek was supposed to be sitting. 

“That was just sad. Poor Boyd. I just--I’m so ashamed of you still.” Erica shook her head like he had committed some crime against humanity, but Boyd was hot, especially when he smiled. 

“I laughed at his jokes and grabbed his boob. People think it’s cute when Chris Evans does it. Why do you keep bringing this up?” Stiles asked, really not sure why it rubbed her so wrong. It wasn’t that bad, really. 

“You are such a tool,” Erica said, shaking her head. She packed another pan and covered it with a clean, black trash bag and set it to the side. “You're so hot you could do whatever you wanted.” Erica sighed and twisted her mouth up in annoyance. “I mean you’re like, cute-younger-brother sorta hot. Which is a lot better because you aren’t as intimidating. You could have anyone, but you’re swimming in so much man pain you’d rather terrify Boyd by drooling all over him instead of going after the person you actually like.” 

Erica stacked and cleaned things as she delivered her devastating tirade of opinion. A hot, red flush of embarrassment crept up his neck and cheeks as he processed her words. He had nothing to say back, not even a thank you because she had been kind of mean about it. 

“Say thank you,” Erica demanded. 

“Thank you,” Stiles stuttered. He had been holding his breath, but he let out a slow breath, getting a grip on himself. Erica grinned at him from across the table. He didn’t know how she hacked his brain, but she always said the right thing and pointed him in the right direction. “What if it’s a really bad idea?” he asked, still unsure about his own ability to judge the situation. 

“There is only one really good answer in times like this. Fuck it, do what you want,” she said with genuine authority. 

“That sounds good but that doesn't usually make people happy,” Stiles argued. 

“Are you that young and dumb still? You think being with someone makes you happy?” Erica asked, laughing, not waiting for an answer. “Happy is for comfortable suburban people who have nothing better to do. You get to be one of us now. You kinda were before, but now you are for sure. We don’t aim that high babe. We aim for a solid relationship with someone we can suffer with.” 

“Who is we, and why?” Stiles asked, not liking the sound of how familiar the sentiment already was. 

“PTSD sufferers like Boyd, The Afflicted, like myself. The supernaturally fucked, like Derek, and the unwitting victim, which would be you.” Erica explained in a very clear, concise voice he rarely heard her use. “Your life is too complicated for you to pretend that permanent contentment is a possibility. It isn't for anyone, but thats the goal the good little sheep set and work for. That’s fine, for them. They’ll never know the difference. If you work for that goal, you will end up miserable and hopeless. Probably suicidal again. You get the privilege of lowering your expectations. If you’re smart, you hope for someone who makes the things that feel shitty, a whole lot less shitty just by being around. And none this shit actually makes you less happy than everyone else, it just means you're more realistic.” 

“Because we have to be honest with ourselves or we’ll completely lose our shit,” Stiles said, understanding exactly what she meant. Not liking that even more. 

Listening to her words was like having a spiritual epiphany. That was his life. Erica already understood it. It was exciting, which felt wrong on a lot of levels, but the clarity and direction gave him hope. 

“Congratulations on not being an idiot,” Erica drawled, but she was smiling. She liked not having to repeat herself or explain things to him. “I already know he makes shit suck a lot less for you because he’s half the reason you worry about normal, teenage things to begin with.” 

“I’m hardly a teenager, but yeah. I feel like I handed him all this power when I came on to him." 

"You did." 

"Well, after that he knew I liked him back and he got all confident, and weirdly competent. I don't have much to offer anymore,” Stiles admitted. 

“You’re nineteen and it’s like a fucking miracle seeing you act like it," Erica laughed. "I'm sure it was a lot easier when you imagined you'd be like Prince Eric teaching him how to use a fucking fork." 

"Maybe," Stiles admitted uncomfortably. 

"And why don’t you have anything to offer? Because he turned out to be an incredibly hot, millionaire, superhero?” Erica asked as she pulled off her apron and gloves and dropped them in the sink full of sanitizer. 

“Yes, that would be my top three reasons for feeling wildly inadequate, thank you for articulating them Erica,” Stiles said brightly, laying on the sarcasm thick. Sarcasm was how they showed they loved each other, by stopping themselves from being huge assholes. 

“Happy to, but none of it matters. He’s in love with you, thus the six am runs. He wants you to live a very long time. You think he’s complicated, but his motivations are literally the most simple, easy ones you can think of. He’s been honest with you. It’s not a mystery why he wants your time and attention. He wants it because he wants it. That's how you feel when you're in love,” Erica pointed out, taking his apron and gloves and sinking them in the sanitizer as well. 

He sighed then threw himself into one of the chair nearby to brood silently as she rinsed everything off and drained the sink. 

“Dinner, Friday’s. Alcohol. You like my plan,” she stated. 

“I do like your plan,” Stiles admitted. 

“You’re a cute drunk,” Erica smiled at him sweetly. 

She was always best to him when he was reasonable. He liked how predictable she was, and how entertaining she made everything. It was kind of like having a mom to talk to. As much as he loved Melissa, she didn’t give the kind of advice he needed. She had never been prepared for him, or the shit he said. She always looked like she was hanging on for dear life when he told her how he felt, even though she loved him. 

Erica blasted through his bullshit like a steamroller, then fixed him up and handed his heart back better than ever. He wouldn’t be okay with half of the shit that had gone down in the last month if it hadn't been for her. 

When they were finished they called Liam in early and got Boyd off work, then headed home to get clean up before meeting at Friday’s. Derek sent him a text that said he was happy to go and he would pick Stiles up in an hour. It flew by fast, Derek was knocking on the front door while Stiles was still getting dressed. He listened to his dad laugh at whatever Derek was saying and gathered up his stuff before running downstairs. He said goodbye to his dad quickly and yanked Derek out the door after him. 

“Why are we in a hurry? Is there something going on?” Derek asked. 

“No... Maybe. Just hanging out. I’m excited,” Stiles smiled across the roof of the Camaro at Derek before he slipped into the passenger seat the car. 

Skeptical, Derek smiled back when he sat in the driver seat. His hair was shorter, curling a little over his forehead instead of hanging in his eyes. It was shiny with some kind of product, and Derek was wearing a suit jacket. It was slim fit and soft black, looking like it came out of a fashion magazine. There was certainly nothing to complain about, but Derek really didn't look like a kid anymore. He didn’t act like one either. He bought a car, clothes, and went to weird foreign films all on his own now. Mostly because he spoke four languages including latin, and no one else Derek knew could stand the subtitles. Stiles tried, but he just fell asleep. Sometimes they still played video games and ate pizza, but Derek ended up reading on the couch next to him more often than not anymore. 

Sometimes Derek talked about how disappointed Laura seemed with him. Stiles couldn’t bear to ask what she thought of him because of it. If she thought Derek was a fuck up, Stiles would have no chance at living up to her seemingly impossible standards. Stiles didn’t care much though, and he wouldn’t until she made peace with Derek over all the shit that she did to him. Derek wasn’t invested in his relationship with Laura yet, so Stiles had no reason to be. It didn’t make any sense though because Derek was amazing, gorgeous, smart, loving, everything someone should be incredibly proud of. Unless, like Stiles, Laura knew she didn’t really deserve Derek. 

“Why do you suddenly look like someone kicked you in the gut?” Derek asked as he pulled onto the freeway and headed downtown. 

“Nervous I guess. I hate crowds,” Stiles lied. Derek was sometimes a little too easy to lie to. He took everything Stiles said at face value. 

Kicking off his shoes he put his feet up on the dash and stretched out. Most people would get pissed if he did that sort of thing in a brand new car, but Derek said he didn’t care. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was because Derek didn’t actually care, or because he let Stiles get away with pretty much anything. The car was a couple weeks old, but it was still pristine. Derek took care of it, just like he took care of himself now. 

“You look good,” Derek said, glancing at him quickly, then back at the road. 

“Thanks. So do you,” Stiles said. 

Trying to distract himself from his own thoughts, Stiles chewed on his nails and pulled out his phone. Nothing on the internet or bubble popping games could distract him from his paranoid downward spiral. All the current evidence, and his nervousness about Erica’s plan--a plan that seemed excessively stupid and juvenile now--brought the sensation of crushing inadequacy back down on his shoulders. 

Fingers wrapping around his dragged his attention back to Derek. He didn’t look over or give Stiles any kind of reaction, he just held his hand all the way to the restaurant like it was a completely normal thing to do. He wanted to call Derek out on it, ask what gave. After a month of keeping at least an arms length between them at all times, except hugs goodbye, why was it suddenly okay to hold his hand? He suspected Erica had something to do with it, but they pulled into the parking lot before Stiles could muster up the courage to ask. 

"Laura's in San Francisco this weekend," Derek said as they pulled into the parking spot. 

"What's she doing there?" Stiles asked. 

"Hanging out with friends. Musicians she met in Portland." 

"Really? She seems kinda solitary," Stiles said, surprised. He couldn’t work up any artificial interest in Laura or her friends, so he undid his seatbelt and opened the car door. "C'mon, let's go in."

Meandering down the sidewalk as Derek armed the alarm in his car, Stiles waited for him to catch up then held the door open for him. Inside, Derek spoke to the hostess. They were the first there, so he asked for a table. The hostess kept smiling and talking to Derek like Stiles didn't even exist. She made small talk and Derek acted like it was easy. Maybe it was easy for him. Either way, Derek was the perfect picture of a handsome, charming, young man. 

When the waitress came and gave them menus, Derek whispered in her ear and she giggled, smiling and nodding before she disappeared without asking what Stiles wanted. The waitress didn’t even glance at him. He was invisible in public when he was with Derek. That was nothing new, but this wasn’t because he was Derek Hale returned from the dead. The waitress didn’t act like she knew who Derek really was, or she didn’t care about that part. The hostess had been annoying, but the waitress tipped the scale, putting Stiles in a terrible mood. 

"I wanted food," Stiles said, wondering if it would be completely ridiculous to ask Derek to flag her back down again. 

"Onion rings and root beer, right?" Derek asked. 

"Yeah," Stiles said, not sure how he knew that, but he knew everything about Stiles. Literally, everything. Of course he knew his favorite appetizer at a restaurant they had visited maybe once before. 

“I just ordered it for you,” Derek smiled. Stiles nodded, wanting to be grateful or feel stupid for thinking Derek said anything else to the waitress but a food order, but Stiles still wasn’t sure why he whispered. "Have you written lately?" Derek asked, somehow adding insult to the barrage of imagined injuries he kept flinging. Stiles hadn't written because his mind had been otherwise occupied. "I'd love to read it if you have,” Derek added, like Stiles hadn’t figured that out already. 

Smiling sweetly, Derek expected the same kind of compliance he got from the waitress. That was obvious. Derek had a clear expectation that he could smile, be gorgeous, and Stiles would give him exactly what he wanted. Mostly because Stiles was fixated on what Derek wanted almost all the time. Taking his field notebook out of his pocket, he threw it up on the table, then pushed it at Derek when he didn't take it. Derek eyed it then picked it up, turning it over in his hands. 

"I meant I wanted to read what you picked for me to read," Derek said, finally understanding something was wrong. 

"You know all of them already, why does it matter? Read what you want." Stiles was suddenly bitter and angry that his chance to get to know Derek in places like this, with too much noise, interruptions and awkward conversation, was gone. It had been stolen from him with lies. Accidentally, but they were lies none the less. 

Flipping through the book Derek went straight to the page with his favorite poem. Seeing Derek navigate his poetry book with such intentional precision was too much. Derek was a huge mystery. What he wanted, why he did and said anything, but he knew absolutely everything about Stiles. Everything. Stiles didn't get a chance to say anything because their waitress showed up with drinks, then Erica and Boyd joined them before she left and he was expected to be happy and social. Erica at least expected him to be happy and social or she would probably call him out right there at the table in front of everyone. 

Taking a swig off his soda, he almost choked when he tasted rum. Lots of it. Derek had charmed the waitress into bringing them drinks without checking their ID’s. Stiles laughed and sat back, relieved Erica wasn't going to have to sneak him shots like she promised she would. 

It was completely humiliating to be upset by Derek’s unexpected proficiency at everything adult and charming. It was childish and weak to miss how clueless he used to be. But those first few days after Derek came back, Stiles had been the center of his entire world. It was difficult to forget how good that felt. He didn't even have a chance to actually enjoy it before it was gone. Rationalizing his feelings meant admitting to himself how disconnected he was from this Derek. The warm, honey like sweetness was still there, but he wasn't allowed to act on it, or share it, so it didn’t mean much. Really, it was no different than the much less potent crush he had on Lydia Martin for all those years. 

The last thing he wanted was a repeat of his unrequited love for Lydia. Just thinking about it made his chest feel weak and empty. He wanted Derek to see him again, to be loud and happy, and more interested in comic books than his car. That person he could relate to. Stiles understood that guy. He didn't know how to talk to the person sitting next to him. That guy was busy telling Boyd a story about an old basketball game between the Bulls and the Blazers. 

When the story ended Derek’s eyes searched for his immediately. Derek fixed on his expression and his face fell flat, his smile gone in an instant. He looked down at his drink uncomfortably. Stiles sat up and put on a smile because being upset was unfair and cruel when he had no way of working things out until later. Stiles turned to Erica and asked about the wedding plans. He laughed as Erica groaned like he had brought up something painful. A hand slid over his leg. Derek’s fingers traced a pattern along his thigh slowly, trying to get some kind of reaction Stiles supposed. He smiled at Derek and went back to talking to Erica because talking to her like this was fun. She was happy, excited and entertaining. 

The hand stayed where it was until dinner showed up. By that time Stiles had two long islands and a margarita burning him up, and he loved everyone. Boyd’s boisterous laugh became the prize at the table. He and Erica told jokes and stories trying their best to make him crack up and shake the drinks. When Boyd finally did break down laughing so hard he had tears streaming down his face, he got up to go to the bar. 

“I need to get away from all you before you give me a hernia,” Boyd chuckled. “Derek, lets go pick up a couple more drinks for these assholes,” Boyd suggested. 

Derek slid out from his seat and leaned toward Stiles. “What do you want?” he asked. 

Stiles leaned in and kissed his nose, laughing and smiling like an idiot. Derek stood up, flushed an adorable shade of pink. The color spread across his cheeks and ears, making both he and Erica cackle mercilessly. 

“C’mon, he gets a redbull and vodka so he’s not sloppy drunk in a couple hours,” Boyd laughed, pulling Derek away. 

“My glorious plan has set sail,” Erica said, leaning into him and pressing her cheek to his sweetly. “I knew it would work,” she said, taking another sip of her neon blue drink. 

“Yeah. I just wish I wasn't such an asshole,” Stiles drawled. His eyes went unfocused and heavy as the world went a little hazy. 

“You’re not an asshole, that was cute,” Erica giggled. 

“No, no--earlier. It’s hard to be around him.” Stiles watched Derek sit at the bar with his perfect hair, and his perfect jacket, and his not-drunk-at-all smile. “Look at him. He’s really attractive, so attractive and charming that I’m just invisible. I spend all my time thinking about him. I never write anymore. He's so nice. He knows everything about me but I don;t know shit about him except he's way better than me. I don’t even know what the fucking point of worrying is either because it’s never going to happen. I mean look at me Erica. He makes me look like such a loser.” Stiles turned to Erica and pointed to his face. “This? And that?” Stiles pointed dramatically at Derek. Stiles lowered his hand when Derek looked their way. “We don’t belong together. He might think I’m fun for a while, but I don't think we--” 

“Stiles, shut up,” Erica shook his arm. He looked up at her again. She was looking toward the bar with a confusing expression of abject horror, like she was seeing something really terrible like a car crash. 

Stiles looked up but all he saw worth noting was Derek at the bar. He kept looking, searching for what bothered Erica. Boyd’s hand was on Derek’s shoulder in a strange way. Boyd was talking to him, but Derek wasn't talking back. He was looking at his drink with a scowl on his face. 

“He heard you Stiles. He heard you,” Erica whispered, gripping his arm tight. 

Suddenly Derek was moving, dropping something on the bar and taking off his jacket. Stiles rushed to get out of the booth, but his drunk coordination worked against him. He was on his feet before Derek was outside, but by the time he got to the front door, Derek was gone. He searched around the outside of the restaurant but Derek was no where. His car was still there though. Stiles sat down on the curb next to the car and tried to understand what had just happened, what he said and why it would have hurt Derek so much. Stiles was angry with himself. He was always angry with himself. It wasn't the first time Stiles had called himself a fuck up, Derek never seemed to care before. Nothing beyond assuring him Stiles he wasn’t, or agreeing he was. 

Inside the restaurant Boyd had moved all of Derek’s things to their table. Stiles inventoried all of it, his phone, his wallet, sunglasses, keys, but the field notebook wasn’t there. Erica insisted that leaving all his things behind meant he was coming back, but she was wrong. Derek left everything behind because he didn’t need it anymore. They sat there for the next few hours waiting. Mostly because Erica insisted he was coming back and Stiles didn’t have the energy to fight with her. He spent the first two hours drunk and crying, and the last couple silent and sober. All of passed by in a blur of self loathing Stiles wanted desperately to forget. 

Finally the waitress came over and said it was last call. Stiles flipped open Derek’s wallet and took out the cash, setting it on the table for her. She looked at the pile and took the top three bills, leaving the rest with an apologetic smile. Erica picked up the rest of the money, put it back in Derek’s wallet, then slipped it in the front pocket of Derek’s jacket. She dragged him out of his seat, holding him steady as she slipped Derek’s jacket over his arm then up, over his shoulders. She waited as he finished putting it on, then straightened it, not saying anything about how big it was on him. 

“You look nice,” She said, combing his hair out off his forehead and smoothing it down. “You didn’t fuck this up. Sometimes people say shit they don't mean, part of being together is learning to ignore it because we all have shitty days. He failed you. He should have given you a chance to explain.” Her words were resolute, a learned truth that he had no right to argue with, but they didn't bring Derek back. 

“Take his car home. He’ll show up soon,” Boyd assured him. He draped his arm over Stiles’ shoulders as they walked out of the restaurant. 

After putting him in the Camaro they waited until Stiles started the engine and put it in gear, marveling a little at how much easier it was to drive than his Jeep. He set out on the freeway, scanning the roads like he might catch sight of a tall, dark haired man miraculously. He got all the way home with no sign of Derek, even though he wasn't rationally expecting one. He sat in the Camaro, leaning over the steering wheel, debating how he was going to explain this to his dad when the door of the Camaro suddenly opened. Stiles looked up hopefully, but the angry face of Laura Hale stared back at him, not Derek’s. 

Dragging him out of the car by Derek’s collar, Laura slammed him against the side window and pinned him painfully by the shoulder. Movement in the upstairs window gave Stiles a little hope he was going to live through whatever torture Laura had in store for him. It meant his dad had seen her drag him out of the car, and his dad would come armed. 

“What the fuck did you do to him?” Laura seethed through clenched teeth. Her fingers dug into his chest painfully. The rage in her eyes and voice was enough to make Stiles question if she was actually going to kill him no matter what he said. 

“I’m sorry,” was all Stiles could stammer out. 

“You’re sorry?” Laura pressed her hand against his chest in a way that kept him from taking a breath. The pain spread out under her hand and moved across his chest like tendrils of acid scratching through his veins. He glanced down and realized her claws were lodged in his chest, ripping and tearing slowly as he struggled against her to breathe. A little more pressure and she would crush his ribs. He held his breath hoping she would stop because she was like a wall of granite, hard and unmovable. 

“Fuck you and your sorry. I felt him turn. I felt him give up again. Do you know what that’s like?” Pain bit into him viciously, like it was responding to her question because he couldn't. He opened his eyes and mouth wide, trying to make her see he wanted to talk, to give her anything she asked him for. “Of course you don’t. You have no fucking clue, but you will. You’re going to find him and bring him back.”

Finally Stiles gasped and struggled against her, reaching out for her shirt, trying to get her to listen and stop. Her eyes flared bright, deep red and her teeth crowded into her mouth, turning sharp and vicious. She growled, a low warning sound reverberating through his bones as she crowded against him. She grabbed his head and brought his face down to hers. He expected her to do something terrible, but her glowing red eyes were full of shock and surprise. Her fingers loosened and moved over his hair gently, almost like she was comforting him. Then the pain from her claws exploded in his chest, burning like fire in his lungs. 

Abruptly, Laura pulled her claws back. Her eyes and teeth vanished like she had never been a monster. Stiles dragged in a loud, gasping breath, gripping the Camaro to keep himself upright. He couldn’t fall down in front of her, Stiles wasn’t sure what she would do to him if he was hidden between the Jeep and the Camaro where none of the neighbors, or his dad, could see. She crowded against him again, glaring up at him menacingly. Her small, delicate stature was a hoax, a cosmic joke on anyone stupid enough to think she wasn’t a deadly predator. 

“I refuse to lose him again because some stupid kid is too selfish to love him back,” Laura hissed, her face a mask of hate and revulsion. 

A click dragged Laura’s attention away. She turned to face his dad and the Desert Eagle he had pointed at her head. “Ma’am, I know you might be close to indestructible, if Derek is to be believed, but I don't think you’d fare too well with half your skull missing,” his dad threatened. "Step away from my son."

Laura stepped back slowly, her eyes fixed on his father, not the gun. “Believe me, killing me is the last thing you want to do, for his sake,” Laura said. Almost brave enough to mock the Sheriff and his well aimed gun. 

Turning her back on both of them, obviously unconcerned about being shot, she walked away and got into her car. She backed out of the driveway and drove away without giving either of them a second glance. The moment she was out of sight Stiles finally let himself fall to the ground. His chest burned and ached, throbbing like it was on fire. His dad was concerned, but Stiles wasn't sure what he said. Eventually he picked Stiles up and shoved him into the Camaro, then got behind the wheel and headed to Scott’s house. 

Watching the familiar streets go by was comforting. He wasn’t bleeding much, but the pain was stifling, burning and horrible when it flared up every few minutes. Stiles was sweating and his stomach churned like he was going to be sick. Scott ran out of his house and down the driveway, opening the door of the car before it came to a complete stop. Being dragged into the house by Scott was awkward and rough. Stiles was too big and too sick, but Scott was worried and determined to get him in the door on his feet. When his dad grabbed his other shoulder things got easier, but not by much when the first wave of real pain hit his chest. 

Tuning everything out was the only way he kept from screaming. Every time a wave of pain washed over him, Stiles couldn’t breath, he couldn’t think. All he could do was curse, tremble and sweat like he was dying. Maybe he was, and maybe he should be screaming in agony, but this was hurt caused by Laura. It was the same kind of hurt that Derek went through for years and he never broke. Stiles hated him, and Laura, but he wasn’t weak, or small, or afraid to die. He took in one breath after another, concentrating on the pulse of his heart and the stretch of the muscles raging and burning against the wounds Laura left behind. 

Eventually the burn settled and only an aching pain remained. He was still shaking and hot though. Melissa’s voice broke through eventually, telling Stiles he was going to be fine. Stiles opened his eyes, thankful to see her smiling back at him. He tried to smile back at her kind, beautiful face but he wasn't sure if it worked. He recognized the kitchen chandelier above him and wanted to laugh at the fact he was laying on the dining room table. 

“You don't know for sure, how can you not know for sure?” his dad’s urgent voice battered his ears. 

“It’s unlikely to see someone change from anything less than an intentional bite, but the Hales are a very strong species of werewolf. When they choose to make a beta, no matter how they do it, it usually works. He’s young and strong, so he will likely survive the process.” Dr. Deaton’s smooth, authoritative voice filled the room like a covert invasion. 

“No, not him.” Stiles demanded, pleading with Melissa to make Deaton go away. “No,” he said again when her eyes were confused in response. 

Scott’s face hovered above his, “What is it?” he asked. 

“No, Deaton can’t--we can’t, he’s dangerous,” Stiles said, reaching out for Scott, hoping his friend believed him. 

“How--”

“He’s dangerous Scott.” Stiles said breathlessly, losing his will to argue. 

“We’ll make him leave then,” Scott promised. 

“We can’t Scott, he’s the only one who knows what’s going on,” Melissa argued. 

“Stiles knows Deaton better than we do,” Scott said in his defense. 

“He’s dangerous,” Stiles repeated. 

“You heard what Deaton said. Stiles could be confused and combative--” 

“He’s not combative, and he’s not confused,” Scott argued, defending Stiles, believing completely that Deaton was dangerous just because Stiles said so. 

Having Scott on his side made Stiles safe. Safe meant he could relax again. He started to drift as Scott and Melissa argued more. Suddenly Scott grabbed his shoulders and dragged him off the table. It was easier to move this time with his arm across Scott’s shoulders. They went to the front porch together, kicking the front door open in a way Stiles found very satisfying even though it wasn't his foot doing the kicking. 

“Tell him,” Scott demanded loudly. He was shouting in the tone of voice that people listened to. Scott was going to get what he wanted. Stiles wasn’t sure what that was, but Scott was on his side, helping him. “Tell him what you were telling John,” Scott demanded from Deaton.

“Mr. Stilinski is in no condition to--” Deaton started to say. 

“Fuck you,” Stiles cursed. The good doctor flinched like he had been slapped, something Stiles didn't think Deaton was capable of. “I know what you did to Derek.” The flinch turned into a look of surprise. Stiles smiled, sick and self satisfied as sweat dripped down his forehead and stung his eyes. 

“Regardless, Mr. Stilinski, you should know it is very likely you are going to become a werewolf. I wish you the best. Please call Laura if you have any further questions,” Deaton said, abruptly turning and walking off the porch. His dad followed the asshole, still asking for something. 

“What did he do to Derek?” Scott asked. 

“Bad things.” Stiles answered holding on to himself until Deaton got in his car and drove away. Stiles was holding on out of fear, but once Deaton was gone he let himself go, sure Scott would take care of him.


	8. Sunrise With Your BFF

A head of dark brown hair was close to his, but the smell was all wrong. Stiles opened his eyes, blinking rapidly to push the grit and haze away. Scott was laying next to him, Stiles was against his back, his head pressed to Scott’s shoulder. They hadn't slept like this for years, but Stiles was thankful Scott was there. His head hurt and his mouth was dry. He shifted to look for a glass of water and pain shot through his chest. 

“Fuck,” he cursed quietly. 

Scott jumped like he was alarmed and turned around, looking Stiles over, asking too many questions at once to understand. 

“Whoa, buddy. Aspirin first.” Stiles held his hand up. 

Scott rolled off the bed and shot out the door. Stiles was alone. He took the opportunity to lift the white bandage taped across his chest. Four claws had sunk deep into his flesh, making a circle around his heart. They were covered with a sticky yellow paste that smelled like eucalyptus and lavender, but there was something else. He sniffed again, but the smell repused him. The bright yellow mixed with the red blood of his wound made the bandage look like a finger painted sunrise. Laying the bandage back down, he covered it with the blanket to cut the wretched stench down.

A flurry of excitement entered his room as his dad, Melissa and Scott checked on him. His dad told him the cut was covered in wolfsbane and he wasn’t going to be a werewolf, but Stiles was skeptical of the whole turning into a werewolf thing to begin with. Derek and Laura were born wolves, so was Jackson, passing it through a bite or claw marks was a myth Stiles could live without entertaining. Deaton was no longer a reliable source as far as he was concerned. 

“I know you’re angry with Deaton son, but he came through for you. Last night you were half dead, but look at you now.” His dad grinned, happy to see Stiles up and coherent. 

“You need to sleep more,” Melissa insisted. She pulled on his dad’s arm and they both got up to leave. “Sleep, not talk,” Melissa warned. 

“We will Mom, I promise,” Scott assured her. His room went back to a quiet haven when and it was just Scott laying in bed next to him. “You okay?” Scott asked. 

“You mean will I live through being attacked by tiny Wolverine?” Stiles laughed until he realized how much it hurt to move. 

“No, I mean Derek leaving. Everyone from the sanctuary and a couple deputies have been looking for him so don’t even think about going after him. And why didn't you tell me he was Sage? I thought Sage died. I was so fucking bummed out.” Scott elbowed him in the ribs. 

“Ow, asshole!” Stiles cursed. 

“That’s what you get for putting hoes before bros,” Scott warned. 

“Noted.” Stiles nodded, taking the punishment he probably deserved. 

Both of them slept the better part of the day. Scott and Melissa stayed the night again even though Stiles felt much better. They left in the morning to get to their respective jobs. Stiles jumped in the shower and scrubbed off the vile yellow goo the moment Melissa was gone. The claw marks had begun to heal it felt like, though the his skin looked far worse than it had been before. Stiles moved his arms testing how mobile he was. Surprisingly only his skin ached. He could lift his arm up and pick things up by the end of the day. The next morning the puncture marks were still scabbed over, but he could lift his arms above his head and move around like normal. He called work and talked to Chris, telling him he would be fine to come in the next day. It took a bit to sell Chris that he was already feeling that much better, and not a mystical wolf man, but he listened to Stiles like he always did. 

“We would rather if you and Boyd went looking for Derek. If you want to?” Chris offered. “Allison and Liam have been picking up the slack as the rest of us search, but they think Derek might respond to you. This is too stressful for Erica, I want this over with as soon as possible,” Chris asked, sounding like he wasn’t hopeful, but he was trying. 

“Of course, I’ll go up to his old house right now,” Stiles offered. He wanted Derek back, and he didn’t want Erica to worry any more than she already was.

“One second,” Chris asked, talking to someone in the office. “Erica says she’ll meet you out by the bridge and you guys can search together. She needs to get out and blow off some steam. But don't let her go too far away from the car, just in case,” Chris warned. 

“Yeah, thanks. Tell her I’ll see her in a minute.” Stiles hung up and looked out his front window for his dad’s car. The Camaro was there, but no cruiser and no Jeep. Scott must have borrowed it instead of getting dropped off by Melissa since Stiles had the Camaro. 

He packed a bag for Derek and some water, hopeful they would find him. He grabbed the keys to the Camaro off the coat rack on his way out. The drive went by quickly, mostly because he drove way too fast. He was calm, even if he did feel a little restless and fixated. The Adderall did that sometimes when he didn’t eat first. It took him a moment to realize he forgot to take his medication before he left the house. It was odd because he didn’t wake up with the usual sluggish dry mouth that reminded him to take it. 

The private access road Stiles turned down lead to an old covered bridge. Erica was waiting on the other side already. He pulled up and opened the passenger door, moving his bag so she could slide in. They drove up to the old property in silence. He wasn't sure what to say, and she looked just as worried as he was. The actual house was nearly overgrown with ivy and clematis. He had come out one time with people in high school, just like everyone else did, but he hated it. He hated how he thought Derek died there before, and now that he knew what really happened, he hated it more. 

Searching through the house, Stiles called out for Derek, but he didn’t get any response. They scanned the ground for evidence of Sage-like paw prints. Stiles found what looked like half a footprint near the old kitchen, then saw red marks on the wall in one of the only patches of wallpaper left. Words were neatly written in what looked like red colored pencil. 

_So we live up these seasons, as if we need no reason._

The poem wasn’t one he would have wanted Derek reading, let alone quoting on the walls of his dead family's house. He cursed loudly and Erica came back into the room . 

“What is it?” she asked. 

“Lines from a poem about my mom dying. He has my poetry book, the field guide,” Stiles said, standing up. “It means he was human though. He’s changed back again. Maybe not for good, but he can.” 

“Could he not before?” Erica asked, sounding worried. 

“He had trouble I think. He was in one form for so long. It took a lot to get out of it, let alone back in,” he explained. 

“I didn’t know,” she said. 

“There is a lot we don't know.” Stiles sighed and looked around for a door they had missed or a set of stairs. “He said there were basements here, but I don’t see any way of getting down, did you?”

“No, let’s split up and look around the outside. I’ll take the front of the house,” Erica suggested, being reasonable and staying close to the car without any reminder from him. 

Out on the porch, Erica called louder for Derek as she looked. Stiles walked through the front room of the house, toward the back door, when he was accosted by the overwhelming scent of death. His ears vibrated uncomfortably, then the shrill sound of electrical feedback shorted out all the other noise around him. He covered his ears but the sound didn’t change. He didn’t understand why, but he knew he needed help. The noise felt like it was pressing his brain somehow, squeezing it unmercifully. Stumbling toward the front door and Erica, he shouted for her. Stiles found her in the front yard, already on her knees, which wasn’t good. She turned toward him, then her head jerked and she crumpled to the ground. 

Ignoring the shrill, overwhelming noise he ran out the door and stumbled to a stop next to her. Searching her pockets for the magnet, he didn't find anything. He looked around on the ground near her and caught the glow of neon pink in a clump of grass. He grabbed for it and passed it over her implant, unsure if she used it already, but it couldn’t hurt to activate it again. To be safe he pushed the magnet back in her pocket. She wasn't convulsing like she usually did. Her face was ticking and her neck jerked only slightly. Her eyes were open like she could see. Worried, he held back her shoulder and watched her chest rise and fall. 

The shrill, awful noise suddenly raised in pitch and she jerked violently. He pushed her over on her side like he was taught, even though his ears were burning with the awful, high pitched noise. It hurt so much Stiles couldn't breathe or think anymore. His vision started to go white and hazy and he closed his eyes. Unable to hold back anymore he let a deep, chest rattling noise tear out of him. Mid scream his ears cleared up and he could hear again. Erica stopped convulsing and went still. Everything around him was too quiet for the amount of adrenaline that coursed through his veins. 

Falling back on his heels, Stiles watched her for signs of recovery. Remembering the protocol he checked the time on his phone and counted down the next five minutes to the second. She was still out cold. After seeing a few seizures, the only other one that lasted like this was when he had to call the paramedics. Digging his fingers into his eyes roughly to focus himself, Stiles made a plan. He checked her heartbeat and breathing. Her heart rate was low, too low. He stood to move her and stumbled, the aftermath of whatever had happened to him had fucked up his ears and destroyed his sense of balance. If he tried to pick her up he could end up hurting her more than helping. He was still weak from being sick. 

“Fuck!” he shouted in frustration, cursing himself for telling her about the writing on the wall when he knew she was already stressed out. “Derek!” Stiles shouted angrily. 

Derek's name tore out of him again and again until his voice was hoarse and he couldn't catch his breath. Derek was out here and he wouldn’t abandon them, not when Erica needed him. Stiles fumbled with his phone checking the time again when he heard the sound of wood snapping. It came from behind the house. Stiles scrambled through the yard in time to see Sage bursting through the underbrush. 

It didn't matter that Stiles had seen Derek change before. It was still terrifying to watch Derek's body morph and convulse before he even stopped moving. He stumbled and fell as he got closer. His body shook violently, still struggling to transform as Derek fought to stay on his feet. It was too fast and too painful, but it was over in seconds and Derek was running across the yard toward Erica. 

“She’s not okay,” Derek breathed out angrily, like a curse. 

Picking Erica up easily, Derek followed Stiles to the Camaro and pushed her into the back seat. He kicked the passenger seat forward and got in next to her. Stiles slid behind the wheel and took off. Derek rifled through the bag in the back seat and pulled on shorts while they drove. Stiles called Melissa at the hospital and told them they were coming in from out by the Hale house, that they couldn’t wait for an ambulance because Erica wasn’t okay. When he pulled onto the freeway he spotted a county cruiser on the shoulder of the road far ahead of them. He reached for his phone, hoping he could call the station and explain before they called him in as noncompliant, but the cruiser accelerated quickly in the emergency lane and pulled out in front of them before they turned on the lights. Stiles tapped Derek on the shoulder and pointed to the cruiser escorting them to the hospital. Stiles was impressed with Melissa's foresight. 

“Drive faster,” Derek said loudly, not impressed at all. 

The speedometer was already pushing eighty. Stiles gunned it. The cruiser lurched ahead of him when he got too close, matching his speed. He stopped at ninety five when the car shook in a way that made him worry. He realized it was more likely the road than the car, but he didn't want to kill everyone trying to get to the hospital. He slowed as they approached the exit, then followed the cruiser through all the red lights straight to the emergency room doors. Melissa was waiting with a doctor and two other nurses. Stiles got out, following for a bit, listening as Derek told them she had a second seizure in the car on the way there. 

Watching them vanish around the corner of the long hallway, Stiles was sure she would be okay. He was better off parking the Camaro before it got in the way of an ambulance. Inside, he found Erica in a crash room near the nurses station. They were trying to cover her with electrodes and monitors. Melissa paged the neurologist in an exasperated voice, indicating clearly she had already done it a few times. 

Derek stood in the middle of the room like a wall of man. The doctor and nurses nurses moved around him instead of asking him to go away. Stiles touched his shoulder and he looked over his shoulder abruptly, like he was startled. He followed Stiles out of the room and into the hallway. 

“I need to call Boyd, go change,” Stiles handed him the bag and pointed him toward the bathroom. Derek did as he asked without comment. Boyd answered after his second call, breathless like he had run for the phone. “Erica is at the hospital, she had two seizures in a row and isn't recovering.” 

Stiles delivered the news fast and brutal because Boyd didn't need flowery placations, he needed information. The line went dead, so Stiles hung up his end. 

“Erica, look at me... Erica,” Melissa’s voice was loud enough to carry into the hall. Stiles went to the window to see how she was doing. 

Eyes open, her head moved awkwardly, her jaw working like she was trying to speak but couldn't. Stiles should have felt empathy and remorse at the state she was in, but he was too thankful to see any sign of recovery to care how awful it looked. Derek fell in line next to him, watching through the window silently until Boyd came through the doors. He saw them and barreled into the room, scaring the hell out of Melissa and the doctor. 

Listening to him rattle off pertinent information about her last few seizures, Stiles thought about the mountain of knowledge Boyd had collected about Erica, and how he could recite it all at a moments notice. He would never question Boyd’s dedication to Erica, ever, but he had resented Derek doing the same thing for him. Stiles wasn't sick though. Unless Derek counted the depression and loneliness. The constant hypervigilance because people still suspected him of being a violent criminal. Even after years of proving himself to the contrary. Derek probably counted it. The more Stiles thought about it, the more awful he felt about how he acted because he was certain Derek counted all those things as circumstances he wanted to improve for Stiles. Derek's motivation had always been clean, just like Boyd's. 

“This is our fault,” Stiles said to Derek quietly. 

“I know,” Derek agreed, not taking his eyes off Erica as they turned her over to do some kind of test. 

She spotted them through the window and fixed her eyes on Derek. Her lips moved like she was talking. Stiles realized she was saying something only Derek could hear on purpose. 

“She said to not be dicks,” Derek reported, smiling for Erica's sake. Erica tried to smile back but one half of her face wasn’t working right. 

“How do we fix something like this?” Stiles asked, certain no amount of money, or time off could make up for it if she suffered neurological damage from the seizure. 

“I have an idea, but I have to work on it,” Derek said. 

“Share?” Stiles asked. 

“It might blow up in my face pretty badly, so maybe not,” Derek admitted. 

“Best laid plans.” Stiles knew plans like that well. When they worked, they worked phenomenally, when they didn't, everyone suffered. “If it involves hiring a wedding planner, paying for everything, and sending her on a three month honeymoon to europe, I’d say you’re standing on pretty solid ground.” 

“Would she take that?” Derek asked. 

“From us? Right now, probably.” Stiles was sure of one thing, Erica wanted to live and be happy as much as she possibly could before she couldn't anymore. Shit like pride and shame didn’t stand in her way. 

“Then we should do that, but I'm not--” Derek folded his arms across his chest and sighed like he was still frustrated “--why did you say that shit at the restaurant?” he asked. 

“It pisses me off you want to know that right now,” Stiles said, too focused on Erica to care if it hurt Derek's feelings. 

Derek didn't say anything, probably because he understood it wasn't the right time or the right place to ask. 

After a while the room calmed down and everyone left but Melissa. She stood at the computer for a long time talking quietly with Boyd. Erica looked like she was talking and moving a little better, but Boyd still loomed over her protectively. Derek listened intently as the conversation went grim. Melissa laughed suddenly and Derek tensed like what they said didn’t make him happy. 

“Um, guys,” Melissa said, poking her head around the edge of the doorway. “I have a request, and I know you guys can accommodate, even if you don't agree. We asked Erica what’s her biggest stressors have been lately and she said the two of you.” Melissa held her hand up stressing the diplomacy of her request. “Now, I don't want you guys to be upset, that’s the last thing she needs, but maybe you can come in for a minute and reassure her everything is going to be okay?” 

Derek grabbed his arm and dragged him into the room. Melissa backed up to avoid the wall of doom baring down on her. Derek’s hand slid down Stiles’ arm, threading their fingers together so they were holding hands by the time they crowded up next to Erica’s bed. She watched both of them closely, her eyes fluttering unnaturally every few seconds. 

“Assholes,” Erica muttered, her tongue sounding thick in her mouth behind her oxygen mask. 

“We fucked up, we owe you big,” Stiles said, not wanting to drag anything out with placations or jokes. 

Erica nodded and smiled, her face better than it was before, but still not right. Her eyes sparkled bright again though, and that made Stiles unreasonably happy. She was all there in her mind at least, her body was just slow to recover. Derek kneeled next to her bed and whispered in her ear. Her eyes went wide and she nodded. Derek kept whispering, Erica smiled, glancing over at Boyd then back to Derek again. Derek nodded and turned to Stiles, pointing at the blinds. 

“Melissa, close the door and pull the shades,” Stiles said as he lowered the blinds and turned them shut. They closed the room up, away from prying eyes. Stiles reached up and pushed the security camera up to the ceiling. “Is that the only one?” he asked. 

“Yeah, should I go?” Melissa asked, looking to Boyd first. 

“No, stay, it’s fine,” Derek said. “It would be better if you could monitor her and make sure nothing goes wrong.” 

“Now I have to ask what you’re going to do,” Melissa said, her eyes were apologetic but her hands were tense on the sliding door like she was ready to argue. 

“It’ll help, a lot, I hope,” Derek assured her. 

“Can it hurt her?” Melissa 

“No.” 

Derek’s quick direct answer satisfied Melissa. She flipped the lock on the door and went over to the other side of Erica’s bed. Laying her stethoscope on Erica’s chest, Melissa watched the monitor as Derek pulled her mask down. He wrapped his hands around Erica’s forearms and leaned in, pressing his lips to the afflicted side of her face lightly. Boyd stood, watching intently as black, pulsating veins crawled over Derek’s skin, vanishing as the pain and sickness flowed into him. 

A small gasp came out of Melissa when she turned away from the monitor to look at Erica. Her hand hovered near her mouth and she pulled back the stethoscope like she was afraid of being near Derek. Stiles watched closely, Derek's hands were trembling, but Stiles wasn't sure if it was Erica or Derek that the tremor was coming from. Melissa looked up at the monitor, stunned as Erica’s heart rate normalized. Swaying slightly, unsteady on his feet, Derek took a deep breath like he was trying to stay calm. Stiles walked around the bed to be closer to him, to help if he could. He reached out and held on to Derek’s shoulder, letting him know he was there. 

Black veins traveled up Derek’s arm seeking out Stiles’ hand, seamlessly sliding over Derek's skin, into his long, tense fingers. The heat and ache was like Laura’s claws, but dull and bearable. Stiles watched the shadowy pain crawl over his skin the same as it did Derek's, felt it move in his veins with purpose, heading toward his heart. Of course Stiles understood what it meant. Curious, he spread his hand out and concentrated on taking more, letting the burn slide up his arm freely and settle in his chest around his heart. The pain was sickness and death, but something inside him wanted it. It wanted to give itself, to sacrifice for Erica because Erica was love. She was perfect and beautiful, and they would eagerly suffer for her, so she could suffer less. 

A deep, engulfing sensation of satisfaction and sweetness spread through him, making his lungs ache with weakness that didn’t make it harder to breathe. It just made it harder to feel himself. It was like losing himself to Erica and Derek, like he could sense how it felt to live in their skin, but it was only an echo. Erica was relieved, excited, thankful, but Derek was sick and unhappy. Love tied his chest up and made him hurt. Derek broke away abruptly with a long, ragged breath. He stumbled back, but Stiles caught him and held him upright, letting him catch his breath. Derek pushed against him, wanting past Stiles. He looked like he was going to be sick. 

Following Derek to the bathroom, Stiles closed and locked the door. He held his breath as Derek’s arms shook like it hurt to hold himself up against the counter. His body heaved and black sickness poured out of him. Stiles rushed forward and held his shoulders as the pain and illness expelled itself. When Stiles thought Derek was done he turned on the water and pulled out a handful of paper towels, letting Derek hover over the sink for a while and recover before he helped clean him up. Derek was deathly pale and sweating like there was still too much of the foreign sickness inside him. 

“Are you going to be okay?” he asked Derek, holding his face up to look him in the eye. 

Black, pulsating veins traveled over Stiles’ fingers again, taking what they wanted from Derek even though Stiles didn’t mean to. Derek focused on him, his expression tight and confused. Then his eyes went wide, his pupils dilating giant and black for a moment. “No,” he muttered, grabbing at his hands and holding Stiles’ wrists too tight. 

Scanning his face and neck, Derek dropped his hands and pulled up Stiles’ tee shirt, running his fingers over skin like he was looking for something. He spotted the claw marks Laura left behind and pulled up Stiles’ shirt the rest of the way to get a better look. Thick, yellowish scabs still clung to his skin, but they brushed away easily when Derek touched them. The shiny white scars left behind were like a badge of honor, proving he had survived Laura. 

“Did Laura do this to you?” Derek asked, but Stiles was sure he already knew the answer. 

“I’m not sorry she did,” Stiles admitted. 

“You will be,” Derek said darkly. 

“Why, because you are? I’m not you.”

“No, you’re not me. I’ve had my whole life to understand what this means. We’re the same--” 

“We might be alike but I understand what it means to take care of them, not just lose them." 

Derek let him go, dropping his shirt like Stiles had lashed out at him with more than words, but words were always enough with Derek. 

"We helped her, and I feel sick from the pain just like you do, but it also felt good to help. I’ve never felt anything so perfect in my life, and if I never do again it will still be worth it.” 

“It won’t be worth it when you lose control and hurt people,” Derek snapped. 

“Whatever control I lose, however I hurt, if I can do what I did for Erica, I don't care.” Stiles also knew when to shut up because something couldn’t be helped. Derek couldn’t take it back. His Dad and Melissa already tried that and failed. 

“You don't know. You have no idea. Come here,” Derek dragged him to the mirror, pointing him at his own reflection. “Feel your eyes, like mine,” Derek ordered. 

Like Derek flipped a switch, Stiles’ eyes flared up, but his were a bright gold. “Why are they yellow?” Stiles asked, staring at himself in the mirror like he was looking at a stranger. 

“I’ve killed innocent people. I didn't mean to, but I did. Laura’s are red because she’s our alpha. She can control you now, make you do things you might not want to. You will want to kill. You will be like a wolf.” Derek said the words like he was trying to talk Stiles out of it, but it had already been done. 

“I know a lot of wolves. I’ve seen them hunt for food, and protect themselves, but I’ve never seen them kill for the sake of killing. People do that, not wolves,” Stiles argued, more sure of that than anything else he knew about wolves or people. 

Derek’s hands slid down Stiles’ shoulders and fell away. He turned around and leaned against the counter, heavy with exhaustion and defeat. “I don't know why you keep tearing everything I know to pieces, but I wish you’d stop. I wish you’d just slow down so I can catch up,” Derek said, his voice too small for how large and imposing he was. 

“How much time do we have now? Shorter, or longer or the same as humans?” Stiles asked because wolves lived twenty years, maybe, but Derek was already older. As the words left his mouth they settled into his skin like truth, separating him from the people outside. He wasn’t the same as Erica, his dad, or Scott anymore. 

“Longer. Sometimes a lot longer, if we don't die bloody,” Derek answered. He looked bad still. The veins in his neck jumped unnaturally, the sheen of sweat on his forehead beaded up. It looked like he was concentrating on taking each breath correctly.

“You want us to slow down, we’ll slow down then. We have time.” Stiles laid his hand on Derek’s chest, his heartbeat was erratic and hard. “You’re sick. How do you get better?” Stiles asked. 

“Sleep, food... just resting helps us a lot,” Derek glanced down at the hand on his chest, leaning into Stiles’ touch. 

“The wolves love each other when they’re sick. How much are we like them?” Stiles remembered from research and work, learning how much time they spent caring for each other, and how much it helped. 

"A lot, that way," Derek nodded in response, his eyes fixed on Stiles. 

Touching Derek was always easy, even when he was nervous and afraid of it. His hands slid over Derek’s chest lightly. Stiles spread his hands out and moved closer. They fit together easily, Derek’s arms tight around his chest, his arms circling Derek’s shoulders, his hands threading through Derek’s hair. Pressing his lips to Stiles’ neck, Derek took a deep breath before moving up his neck and kissing again. He stopped at Stiles’ jaw, pressing his nose against stubble covered jaw. 

“You smelled good before, but now....” Derek dragged his lips across Stiles’ skin, sending electric-like sensations through him in waves. “I want to keep doing this, but I hear them talking about moving her. We should go,” Derek said reluctantly.

Stiles kissed his lips softly, lingering for a moment. He searched for some kind of scent like Derek picked up, but he only smelled soap from the dispenser next to the sink. They both cleaned up and went back to Erica’s room. Melissa was filling out the chart at the end of Erica’s bed. She glanced at her watch then wrote more, her eyebrows drawn up in concentration. She looked up when they came in though, her face brightening immediately. 

“All hail the conquering heroes. I don't know what you did, but she’s doing great.” Melissa kissed him on the cheek then turned to Derek before Stiles could say anything. She looked Derek over quickly, hesitating. “I don't know if I want to hug you, or hire you. But you look like shit, so, hug?” she asked. 

Derek smiled and Melissa hugged him tight like she did with family, commenting on how hard it was to get her arms all the way around him. As she let go, she decided to be more brave, running her hands over Derek’s face, obviously concerned about his appearance. “Okay, sit. No arguing,” she said, pointing to the chair next to Erica. 

Derek started to protest but Stiles shook his head, warning Derek he had better comply with a hard look. Much to Stiles’ surprise, Derek closed his mouth. He walked to the chair and dropped himself in it without protest, only looking a little put out. 

“How the tables turn,” Erica drawled gleefully, her eyes rolling back to Stiles dramatically. “How good do I look right now compared to him?” she asked, but kept talking before he could answer. “I'm famous around here you know? I’m going upstairs for photos next. Do you think I need lipstick?” Erica made a kissy face at him and grinned. 

“I think you’ll ruin lives if you do that. Everyone’s used to seeing sick people around here, not big fakers like you,” Stiles sneered and plopped down on the end of her bed. 

“I feel fine, really,” Derek said, watching Melissa stethoscope move toward him like he didn't trust it. 

“You are a terrible liar,” Melissa said, finally laying it on his chest. 

“Not as bad as Stiles,” Derek muttered. 

“Oh, don't even get me started on how bad of a liar Stiles is,” Melissa laughed and glanced over at him with a grin, not sorry at all. 

Later, he would ask so many questions about how she knew when he was lying, but for now they sat quiet until Melissa was done listening to Derek’s chest and taking his vitals. 

“I don’t know a lot about you guys, just what I grilled out of Deaton, but I can guess--hopefully. Do you know how well you do with catnip?” Melissa asked. 

Derek shook his head. “I don’t know,” he admitted. 

“Wolves can ingest catnip. We give it to them sometimes, along with sweet annie and basil for enrichment. They love it,” Boyd said. 

“You’re having palpitations. That can’t feel very good. They’ll stop on their own I’m guessing, but anything you do to take care of yourself is going to make you heal faster. It’s partially psychosomatic far as I understand, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t work. You can pick up catnip tea at almost any grocery store, and it will help,” Melissa suggested. 

“Okay,” Derek said, nodding like he was surprised she had something useful to contribute. “Thank you.” 

Melissa nodded and looked at her watch. “Let’s take you upstairs, they’re probably waiting on us now,” she said to Erica. 

“I expect you guys to be totally miserable the whole time I’m gone,” Erica said with far too much energy for someone being pushed in a hospital bed out the door. 

They agreed and smiled, waving until she rounded the corner out of sight. 

“So what did you guys do to her?” Boyd asked immediately. 

Stiles got up and closed the door to give them enough privacy to be honest with Boyd. Derek talked for both of them, explaining what he had done, and how Laura had changed Stiles. Derek explained that being changed left people much the same, but outlined the struggles in great detail, ending with the fact that the wolf healed anything wrong with the body, but the transition could kill you. Stiles wasn't sure why he was explaining so much, but Boyd just listened silently until Derek was done. 

“Is that why you were sick?” Boyd asked Stiles. 

“I don't even know what day it is to be honest. I was so out of it I thought I might die, then I woke up and felt fine. I think my dad and Melissa did something to me though. It might have made it better, or worse. Wolfsbane, something Deaton told them to do,” Stiles explained. 

“You didn't tell me that,” Derek said, scowling at him like he was angry about it. 

“I’m telling you now,” Stiles countered, surprised by his reaction. 

“Hello?” Boyd reminded them that he was the center of attention. “You want Erica to agree to be changed? Did she tell you about the scans?” Boyd asked. Immediately Stiles understood why Derek had explained everything. 

“No, she didn’t. What did the last batch say?” Derek sat forward in his chair, intent on Boyd’s answer. 

“They showed more damage than they expected from the seizures. That kind of brain damage was always going to be the endgame, eventually. But we thought we had more time.” Boyd sat back on the bench, spreading himself out like if he took up more space it might make him feel better. 

“She wants you to go first,” Derek said. That's what they had whispering about before. 

“Because she won't do it if it kills me. She'd let herself die slow,” Boyd said, looking at the wall ahead of him instead of either of them. Stiles couldn’t imagine being in his position, just watching him struggle with it felt like an impossible choice. 

“I don't know if Laura will do it,” Derek admitted. “I think she will, if I make her some promises.” 

“Derek,” Stiles warned, not liking that condition at all. A throbbing, scratchy ache flared in his neck suddenly. 

“Stiles, you don't know her. You don't know how hard it’s been for her. She’s not really a monster. She’s just acting like one right now because she’s young, stupid, and can.” Derek sounded fed up and frustrated with the whole thing, so Stiles held his hands up in surrender. He wasn’t going to pick that battle in the middle of the emergency room, not when so much was at stake for Erica and Boyd.

“Erica went to school with her,” Boyd said. “She told me Laura was always around when the seizures happened but she didn’t really think anything of it back then. Once, Laura broke some asshole’s camera when he tried to film Erica having a seizure.” 

“That sounds like Laura,” Derek muttered. 

“Would she ever have them again?” Boyd asked. 

“No, never,” Derek said, sounding incredibly certain. 

“Then yes, ask Laura. Let me know.” It became simple for Boyd because he liked the people sitting in front of him. For him it was like following his friends into battle, for Erica’s sake. 

It didn’t surprise Stiles that Erica was the solidifying force amongst them, bringing them back together. She forced them to define themselves by how useful they were, not how they felt at some fleeting moment. She demanded loyalty, not because she wanted it, but because she needed it. To be her friend you had to be fearless and loyal. You had to be willing to watch her suffer, and that was something most people couldn’t do. 

They left the hospital and headed directly to the loft to see Laura. Derek didn’t want to waste any time, and Stiles agreed. He should have felt nervous, but it was like his usual anxiety was turned down to zero. He wasn't looking forward to it, but he also wasn't afraid. Laura met them at the door, sliding it open as they walked down the hall. She looked like she was ready for a fight, both mentally and physically. Her expression was hard and her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, accentuating the severity of her jawline and long, thin neck. 

“Glad to see you’re back baby brother,” Laura said, sliding into a bar stool at the counter separating the kitchen from the rest of the loft. She sounded like she was comfortable, but she moved like she was expecting Derek to attack. 

“I’ll stay if you change two people for me, and let me have equal say in any future pack members.” Derek threw the words at her without any pretense, not even a smile. 

Stiles watched Laura as Derek spoke. Her eyes softened and she sat up straighter, like she was pleasantly surprised by his directness. 

“What two people and why?” Laura asked. 

“Erica Reyes,” Derek answered. He walked further into the loft and leaned against the counter, gesturing for Stiles to stand behind him. 

“Mm, I like her. Vernon Boyd, then?” Laura said thoughtfully. 

Derek nodded, situating himself against the counter so Stiles was a part of the conversation as well. They waited patiently, letting Laura think about it. 

“Live here,” Laura stated abruptly.

“Not with you,” Derek countered. 

“Fine. I want to live in San Francisco, but I’ll stay here when I’m in town,” she negotiated. 

“Of course,” Derek said, his voice suddenly turning from firm and direct to kind and accommodating. 

Stiles looked from Derek to Laura, realizing that she had somehow just agreed and negotiated her terms in a matter of seconds, neither of them talking each other into anything, or even explaining themselves. 

“I’ll stay until Boyfriend isn’t deadly, but the other two will be your responsibility,” Laura added. 

“Boyfriend’s name is Stiles,” Stiles corrected her. 

“Boyfriend’s name is Stanislaw. You picked a nickname, then I can too,” Laura smiled, looking more like Derek than Stiles ever imagined she could. He didn't want to know how she knew his real name, not while they were negotiating the finer points for Erica, so he left it alone. 

“Call him what he wants to be called, please?” Derek asked politely. 

“Okay,” Laura agreed easily, making Stiles wonder if she was faking, or if there was something more to the agreeableness that had wormed it’s way into the conversation. 

“We all get the same freedom, no micromanaging,” Derek asked. 

“I’m nobody's mother, Derek,” Laura curled her lip like he was disgusting for suggesting it. “But you guys come when I call.” 

“Of course,” Derek agreed. 

“What does that mean?” Stiles asked. 

“Sometimes people want to kill alphas. She calls, we come,” Derek explained. 

Life and death. That was hard to argue with. He nodded, not seeing an issue beyond not liking Laura much. But he was willing to admit he simply didn't know her, and she had left a very bad first impression. 

“He’s smart,” Laura said, suddenly interested in Stiles. “I changed you because I didn’t want to lose him, but you might not be the tool I thought you were. He always had the worst taste in dudes.” 

“Charming,” Stiles said to Derek. 

“Oh, yeah. I like him,” she laughed. She looked him over and slid off the chair, closing the space between them with only a couple steps. Her proximity was unsettling, but strangely good. The urge to touch her or hug her was nearly overwhelming. She reached out and pressed her fingers into his cheek, like she was testing his skin. The desire for contact was immediately satiated the moment she touched him. The scratchy ache in his neck flared up again. Stiles reached up to rub at it but she stopped his hand. “What happened to you?” she asked, smoothing her hand over his chest. “I feel wolfsbane, right here,” she said, tapping his sternum. 

“They put it in the bandage,” Derek said. 

“Was someone trying to kill him?” Laura asked, alarmed. 

“Deaton,” Derek answered. 

“Deaton? Why?” Laura demanded of him, her eyes and hands commanding him to say it outloud. The pull was strong to give her what she wanted, but Stiles resisted, asking himself why she cared when she was so willing to kill him herself. “Stiles, do you know why?” she asked, her hands gripping his shoulders urgently. 

“I told him I knew what he did to Derek,” Stiles answered. He couldn’t ignore the deep concern in her voice, the all encompassing protectiveness she emanated. It didn’t make sense considering what he knew--or what he assumed about her. 

“Stiles,” Laura said his name like he had made a grave mistake, but she wasn’t angry. Her arms circled his neck and she pulled him close. He hesitated, but didn’t resist. She let him go quickly, but didn’t take her hands off him. He didn’t like how relieved he was by her acceptance and forgiveness. “It was my mistake. I was angry and I told him to do whatever he could. I took it too far and trusted Deaton to deal with it more reasonably. I didn’t understand back then how much my words meant, how much influence they could have. Even on a human.”

“Are you saying he had no choice?” Stiles asked, not really believing that was true. 

“No, but he was heartbroken. He loved my mother. He lived under her influence for so long, I think he lost sight of how much Derek needed us in his attempt to give me what I wanted. I stopped him when I found out, but it was too late. Deaton knows about wolves, but he doesn’t know what it’s like to be one of us. That was my mistake, trusting him to understand when he was in so much pain,” Laura explained. 

“Let me take care of him,” Derek said, glancing over at Stiles like he was checking for a reaction. 

“No,” Laura answered. 

“You can't kill him. The Sheriff can’t ever know. If he finds out what Deaton did he'll do something and we're obligated to keep Stiles' family safe,” Derek argued. 

“He has to leave town then,” Laura said, then turned back to Stiles. “I made you and he tried to kill you. You might not understand what that means right now, but someday you will." Unsure how else to respond, Stiles nodded. "I’ll let you deal with him Derek, but you need to understand I've tolerated him. I took responsibility for my part in what happened and let that go, but he went too far. I won’t tolerate him any more. If you don’t remove him from our lives, I will,” Laura explained resolutely. 

“We’ll take care of it,” Derek assured her. Laura nodded, agreeing. “When can you come for Erica?” Derek asked. 

“That’s all up to you baby brother. Just tell me when and where,” Laura said, sounding genuine and loving. “You look sick,” Laura said, reaching out to run her hand over Derek’s cheek. 

“Erica was bad off," Derek shrugged. 

“Come here,” she said, holding out her arms. 

Much to Stiles' surprise, Derek folded his arms around her without hesitation. She tucked her head against Derek’s chest and held him tight, proving how kind and loving she could be. After a little while Laura pulled away, just enough to see Derek's face. Curious, Stiles watched them interact, Derek smiling and talking to her as she ran her hands through his hair and over his face. Eventually she dropped her hands, like she was satisfied with the work she had done. Derek did look better. His skin had more color and his expression was more alive. 

“I’ll call tomorrow,” Derek said. 

“Love you,” Laura said, waving to him as they walked to the door. “Love you too Stiles.” She waved at him and smiled, like she meant it, like it wasn’t a joke. 

The strange, warm feeling in his chest unnerved him. He wanted to like it, but he didn't quite like her yet, so that wasn't happening. Once they were on the road again his dad called to see where he was and Stiles said they would be home soon. His dad sounded worried, especially when Stiles told him not to. 

“He’s going to be upset,” Derek said. 

“Captain Obvious to the rescue,” Stiles gave Derek a half grin and looked out the window at the strip mall along the freeway. 

Thousands of people, all within arms reach, and none of them would ever have any idea what he was. His old life felt like an echo of this one. A ripple in a greater plan that had moved him into the space he belonged. He looked down at his hand and flexed it, thinking about the claws he had seen on Laura. He was sure he had them too, waiting under the surface to be seen. He wished to see them and they slid neatly into place. The pain and sting as they forced their way to the surface was sharp, but not surprising. 

Flipping the mirror down he looked at his teeth and watched them do the same as Laura’s had done. It was fascinating, and he was curious, but it was too much like handling a loaded weapon without training for his comfort. As the son of the Sheriff, that lesson was deeply ingrained in him. He scratched at the back of his neck, realizing the persistent itch was too deep to be his skin. He rubbed at the spot, wondering what it was. A presence reacted, like thinking about it drew it out of it’s hiding place. It slowly uncoiled itself, letting him sense the quiet, small spark of life that waited for him to reach out to it. He recalled Derek explaining what it was like to be a wolf or a human. How in each form the spark of the other was like a little voice in the back of his mind. Stiles concentrated on recognizing that voice and it stretched itself out, growing, flexing, but moving cautiously. It settled against his mind unobtrusively, filling the unused space. 

It whispered softly, but it was powerful. The presence wasn't really a voice. It was more like an idea that Stiles was sure wasn't entirely his own. It was slow, reliable, and very different from how Derek described it to Stiles. Laura had given it to him, it knew her. It surged with love and excitement momentarily when Stiles thought of her. It spoke quietly about how strong Laura had made it and how good it intended to be. It loved him and trusted him to keep it safe. It showed itself as energy but called itself a wolf. It was like an intricate spiderweb, glowing red like fire along his nervous system. 

Sensations like anxiety and fear were powerful, but controlled, because that was the wolf's territory now. The wolfsbane had injured it, but Stiles had saved it by wanting it so completely. He didn't know his rampant daydreams about becoming a werewolf had helped it when he was laying in bed trying to recover. Stiles was just doing what he always did, imagine what he wanted, the best and the worst case scenarios. It didn;t care that he believed it wasn't even possible. He wanted it all the same, that was all that mattered. When he washed the wolfsbane away before it could make the wolf too sick to live he saved himself too. The wolfsbane would have eventually killed them both. They hung on just long enough, working together unbeknownst to Stiles because they both wanted the same thing so fiercely. 

Scars had formed around the space where the wolfsbane attacked them, making the energy strong and dense around his heart. It was an accident, but that was why the wolf knew him, and why he could understand it so easily. It knew his heart, who it beat for, and how it changed as he viewed the world. The heartbeat couldn't lie. It trusted Stiles because he was good and his mind was strong. Stiles pressed his fingers into the dense part of the invisible scar, near his heart on the left side of his chest. His body felt the same under his fingers, but it responded to his touch, stretching and buzzing against his chest like it enjoyed being recognized. Just as easily as it slid to the surface of his mind, it slipped away quietly, leaving him to explore the power still changing in his body. 

Taking a deep breath, he let the sensation of strength roll along his shoulders and arms, down to his fingertips. He liked the feel of it, the awareness of everything. Stiles kicked off his shoes and stretched his legs out along the dash. He leaned his shoulder heavily against Derek’s. He was something different now, but he liked and wanted the same things. He was still himself and the wolf promised him he would stay that way, he would always be in control. 

“Deaton lied to your father. There’s no way to reverse the change once it starts happening. Wolfsbane can’t stop it,” Derek said quietly. 

That wasn’t news to Stiles. The only way Deaton could have gotten his father to use the wolfsbane would have been to tell him it was a cure. “My dad will kill him, then turn himself in.” 

“Then we don't say anything,” Derek decided, but he already knew about this when he talked to Laura in the loft. Derek was being diplomatic, showing Stiles he had a say in how it happened. 

“He has to leave town, like Laura said,” Stiles agreed. 

Calling Chris seemed like the best option. He would ask questions if Deaton vanished, and they needed him on their side if they were going to protect his dad. Chris knew about the supernatural now, and he would care what had been done. He could safely deliver the message that it was best Deaton leave town before others found out what he had happened without turning to homicidal rage. Explaining things to Chris was easier than he thought it would be, but Chris was understandably upset. The disbelief and shock was thick in his voice as he questioned if Stiles was sure Deaton had really done what he described. 

“Check his files Chris. The tall, standing file cabinet in the front corner of the annex. The bottom drawer is locked, but there’s crowbar in the garage. If theres anything on-site, it’s in there. Even if there’s nothing, he still did it, but you might find proof,” Stiles said. 

“Stiles, I believe you. I’m sorry. I feel like so much of this is my fault. I exposed you to this. I don't know how to even begin talking to your dad about any of it.” The genuine remorse in Chris’s voice was comforting. Stiles could trust him, everyone could. 

“Don’t tell my dad about anything. Let him tell you. If he finds out about what Deaton did... “ Stiles took a deep breath, leaning his head back against Derek. He didn't need to explain to Chris. 

“I know. I don't want him rotting in prison any more than you do, and he’s too damn smart. He’ll figure out what I know if I start explaining any part of it,” Chris said with the frustrated tone that only came from years of practice in the art of loving John Stilinski. 

“One thing at a time, Chris,” Stiles quoted his dad and Chris laughed. 

“I’ll come by tonight, kid. Victoria made you apple cake.” The smile bled through Chris’s voice as he spoke. 

“Awesome, thank you. Tell her I love her,” Stiles said, then said goodbye. 

Everything had spiraled so far out of control, but now he was picking up the pieces, one thing at a time. The plan that stretched out in front of him was simple, but quiet and time consuming. Finally he was patient and focused enough to see it all clearly.


	9. Unique and Pragmatic Heart

“Stiles. I understand what’s written here, but I don't understand what this means for you. Are you going to go to college? Can you? Do we need to get a cage?” The absurd pragmatism his father demanded was an attempt to cover up his fears. It didn’t stop the questions from sounding as offensive as they were meant to be. 

“Dad, sit down,” Stiles stretched his hands across the table and pointed at the chair. 

“I don't want to sit down, I want to arrest Laura Hale for one, then see where having her locked up takes us. She seems like the type to resist,” his dad threatened. 

“She would kill you, then Stiles would be alone,” Derek said, his short, brutal words hitting his dad hard. He hadn’t spoken much, choosing instead to write out what his dad asked for while Stiles talked. The things Derek did choose to say were either devastating or transformative. 

Finally taking a seat, his dad looked over the sheets of paper Derek had made him. Even though it was apparently against the rules of his family, Derek shared everything his dad asked for. It was expressly forbidden for a werewolf to write history or circumstance in any human language, Derek had said those words specifically, but there was no Hale family around to enforce those laws. Knowing only made Stiles wonder what werewolf language was. 

“The full moon is right there,” his dad pointed to the calendar hanging on the wall next to the refrigerator. It was in a week and a half, plenty of time. 

“Can we worry about that sometime in the next few days?” Stiles asked. 

“I guess so,” his dad said, flipping through the three sheets of paper like he was going to find more information in them somewhere. He stopped and closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead like it was all excessively painful. 

“I can't tell you today what my plans for the future are anymore than I could have told you three weeks ago. My circumstances are just different, but that was the point of the gap year, wasn't it?” Stiles asked, feeling like that sounded like a good point to make. 

“No, the point of a gap year was certainly not to turn my son into a monster!” his dad shouted in frustration, finally getting to the fear he had locked up tight over two hours ago. 

“We both know you would love me even if I was a serial killer, so cut the shit dad,” Stiles said, unwilling to let his dad feel like he had even one inch of control over the situation. Stiles refused to justify or cater to those kinds of fears. “If mom had this she would still be the same person, and she never would have died. Would it be okay then?” 

His dad suddenly shifted forward in his seat and stared at the paper, reading the words he had read at least a dozen times already like he was seeing things he hadn’t taken the time to look at before. 

“Never sick?” his dad asked, losing his battle with anger and resentment quickly. 

“Rarely. There are no guarantees, sir, but all the things you struggle with and what your wife died from, will never be an issue for Stiles,” Derek answered. 

“You’re sure?” his dad asked, looking Derek in the eye and speaking to him reasonably for the first time since they sat down. 

“It’s impossible. There is zero chance he will ever develop FTD,” Derek said, using the abbreviation like he was familiar with it. 

A fifty percent chance. That number had been hanging over his head for almost a decade, and now it was suddenly down to zero. 

“What about his kids?” his dad asked Derek. Stiles leaned forward to speak for himself, but Derek moved his hand to Stiles’ thigh, stopping him. 

“They might be born wolves. Less of a chance than mine, but still a chance. Either way, most of those types of genetic issues disappear in bloodlines after a person is turned.” Derek answered easily. 

“How do you know this stuff?” Stiles asked, hoping the answer didn’t ruin the impact Derek was having on his dad. 

“My family is old--was old. We knew a lot of other mixed families and it was general knowledge that none of us suffered from those kinds of illnesses, human or wolf,” Derek said. 

“You say wolf, but it’s not really a wolf, it’s just--” his dad flipped to the second page and laid it down on the table, finally reading it for real. 

“Shapeshifter, but patterned to the behavior of a wolf. Sometimes the spirit takes on a different form depending on the host. Third paragraph.” Derek pointed and his dad skipped down, reading through Derek's neat, dense script. 

“Can we go sleep dad? We’re still sick from helping Erica and--” 

“Go, I’m sorry. Go sleep. Do you want me to wake you for dinner?” his dad asked, not looking up from the paper. 

“Yes, thank you,” Stiles said, relieved. 

Climbing the stairs to his room was exhausting in a familiar, achy way. He expected to have more energy, or feel like it was easier, but exhausted was exhausted for everyone he supposed. Derek took a shower and crawled into bed next to him. Stiles ran his hands over Derek’s damp skin. He wanted to ask so many questions now. So many things had been dragged up with his father, but he was sure Derek answer all his questions later. They were both too tired to keep wading through all of it. 

“We didn’t pick up the tea,” Stiles said, remembering Melissa’s suggestion. 

“I’ll be fine.” Derek said flatly. He didn’t look fine with all the extra stress his dad had piled on Derek. Everything Laura had done for him was gone. 

“How can I tell? I can tell, can’t I? The same way Laura could?” Stiles asked. 

“Here,” Derek put Stiles’ hand in the middle of his chest. “You have to want to connect to the other person this way to see how they feel.” 

Connecting to Derek was instant, the moment he wanted it, it happened. Sensing the painful erratic beating of his heart, he searched for the sick, black energy still permeating Derek’s blood. It moved toward Stiles like a magnet, flowing into him easily. Derek pushed against his hand, but Stiles pressed his fingers in deeper. Derek was still stronger than him, but he was weak and sick. 

“Stiles,” Derek warned, his grip on Stiles’ wrist tightening as the last of the violent, painful energy left him. “You can’t, not like that.” Derek took a deep breath as his body broke free of the pain finally. His heartbeat evened out and the color flushed back in his skin. “You shouldn’t have done that.” Derek scowled, his hands moving over Stiles’, searching for signs of sickness. 

There were no signs, Derek wouldn’t find any because Stiles didn’t feel the sickness the same way Derek did. He flexed his hand, testing the ache it left behind as it moved through him. It traveled along his muscles, through his veins, but it never got past the huge scar in his chest. It seemed to burn up as it pumped through his heart. That was where Derek had struggled with it. Derek’s heart had dumped all the offending energy it could into his stomach to save him from being as sick as Erica was, but Stiles’ heart was like a glowing furnace waiting to consume anything he fed it. 

Convinced Stiles was still sick somehow, Derek reluctantly listened as Stiles explained what he thought happened, how it worked. The tension drained from him as Stiles talked. When he finished he assured Derek he was fine again, Derek scowled and looked at Stiles in disbelief. 

“That’s a lot more than you should be sure of. Theory isn't the same as knowing,” Derek said. Stiles had lost the motivation to explain himself. He was fading fast. 

Shifting closer to Derek’s side, Stiles got comfortable and finally let himself drift off to sleep.


	10. Broken Glass Doesn't Mean She Hates You

“You don’t have to stay,” Erica said for at least the tenth time. 

Stiles looked down at his hand, his fingers threaded tightly through hers. Long black veins crawled over his skin, intermittently draining away the pain, anxiety and feedback the stress created endlessly in her body. He had been holding on to her hand for hours and it never stopped coming. That was the root of her illness, a constant barrage of neurological stress that eventually built up enough to short out her brain. She somehow survived steeped in it everyday, never feeling completely clean, or free of it because her body didn’t know how to manage the strain. 

“You can’t hold my hand forever Stiles,” Erica insisted, just like she had all the other times she said it. 

“Watch me,” he smiled, again. 

Stiles didn't mind the circular conversation. It was like an anchor in the chaos moving around them. Something repetitive and reliable at the eye of the storm. Derek sat in a chair next to Boyd, who was sleeping and sweating. It was better than the deep, nerve wracking, guttural screaming Boyd had suffered through earlier. Laura left after that. Stiles didn’t blame her. Boyd was taken care of and she looked sick with grief. 

The final deciding factor for Boyd had been when Stiles and Derek went to the sanctuary to see if the wolves would tolerate them. They were terrified at first, but Sunny recognized Stiles. When they went into the bays and ran through the acres with them, the wolves howled and chuckled excitedly, having more fun than Stiles had ever seen them have outside of rabbits being enthusiastically hunted down consumed. 

They seemed to recognize Derek after a while, Sunny at least. She was the only wolf Derek had ever cared for because she relentlessly cared for him when he was Sage, even when he rejected her like all the rest of them. Boyd never changed his mind about going through with it, but he had to know he would be able to come back afterward, or make arrangements not to. No one was as loyal or pragmatic as Boyd. 

When Boyd finally fell asleep for real, his breathing heavy and slow, Erica climbed in bed next to him. Stiles left her alone for a while, but a couple hours later he moved a chair closer to the bed and pulled her hand out from under her pillow. She rolled her eyes, but let him take it. 

“Do you know how good I feel right now? I haven’t ever felt this good in my life. You need to stop worrying,” she groaned into her pillow. Ignoring her was easy because he didn’t care how much she complained. It didn’t bother him because he knew how much she loved him. 

Falling into a daydream was easy as well with nothing active to do. Stiles stared at the ceiling listening to Boyd breathe. If he could have done for his mom what he was doing for Erica, he would have never left her bedside. Erica was paying for that now, but that didn’t matter either. She and Laura liked each other, they laughed and talked like old friends, constantly asking each other why they didn’t hang out in school more. He knew the answer to that question, even though they pretended they didn’t. 

The Hales were overachieving and unapproachable. Derek had chosen his friends carefully, just like Laura did. People vapid and self centered enough to not ask a lot of questions, and invested enough in being popular to lie for the sake of image and convenience. That was how Jackson and Lydia ended up together, and why they eventually broke up. Lydia wasn't willing to play the game anymore. Now none of that mattered. Outside of school their worlds were as small and contained as they wanted them to be. His life, all their lives, could revolve around the sanctuary and both packs for years before any of them felt the need to venture out. 

There was a real possibility the pack would break apart the minute Erica felt real freedom for the first time though. She felt okay now, but she was tethered to Stiles. If things went well for her, she wouldn’t need anyone or anything for the first time in her life. But none of them, especially Laura, would deny Erica the chance to do as she pleased for as long as she wanted. Even if they did miss her and Boyd terribly. Stiles worked the possibility over and over in his mind, preparing himself just in case that was how Erica wanted it. 

Pacing into the room, Derek stopped like he was listening for Boyd’s heartbeat again. Stiles still hadn't gotten the hang of the hearing thing. It was frustrating, just like the scent thing. It was like his brain misfired sometimes and caught those things, but it was consistent. Derek said it was normal to have proficiencies and things you struggled with. Stiles had a big proficiency. It made sense his struggles would match. 

Stiles fell asleep for a couple hours and woke up when it was dark outside. Erica’s hand was still in his, but Boyd wasn't in bed. His big voice filtered in from the kitchen and startled Erica awake. She looked around, then scrambling out of bed, heading straight for Boyd the moment her feet touched the floor. Staying in the same room while they celebrated Boyd’s recovery was an impossibility. Stiles took Derek’s hand and led him outside as Erica climbed Boyd enthusiastically. 

“We shouldn’t leave them alone,” Derek insisted, stopping at the door. He was worried about how safe Boyd was to be around, but that was absurd. Erica couldn't be safer with Boyd. 

“We definitely should, at least for the next few minutes.” Stiles smiled at Derek’s surprised expression as Erica tore into Boyd, kissing him like he had treasure stashed behind his tonsils. 

They were fine, and the front porch was more than close enough. Derek called Laura and they waited outside until she pulled up in her black sedan. She sat down between them and kicked the porch swing they were sitting on lightly, making it creak and groan as they swayed. 

“You feeling okay, Boyfriend?” she asked, using the nickname he hoped she never repeated in front of anyone else. 

“I’m fine,” Stiles assured her. 

“Normally I wouldn’t ask, but I’m a little too invested in this one. I need to stay and see it through, but I'd like your help if you're willing,” Laura said, leaning against his shoulder as she talked. 

“With Erica?” Stiles asked. 

“It was hard to leave you, and Boyd, but I don’t think I’ll be able to leave her. I also don't know how her change is going to make me feel. It might be a lot worse,” Laura admitted. 

“I’ll do whatever you need me to,” Stiles promised. 

It was easy to see a cute, young woman when he looked at Laura now, but it was hard for him to imagine how young and inexperienced his alpha was. She had waited for Derek to come back to her before she built anything permanent. There was hardly room in his mind to accept any kind of fallibility about her. It was a side effect of the unquestioning dedication that felt just as real as his faith in his father. His father was fallible too, and that was just as hard to imagine sometimes. Eventually the house went quiet inside and Erica came to the door to invite them back in. 

Erica paced while she waited for Laura to be ready. Stiles had never seen her really nervous or frightened before. She seemed impervious to those sorts of things. After sending Boyd and Derek to the back deck in the hopes the distance would keep Boyd calm, they were ready. Stiles held her hand, burning off all the stress and feedback that had built in her since the last time. It wasn't much, but he wanted her to be as calm as possible for everyone's sake. Laura was kind, speaking softly and hugging her tight. Stiles only knew it had been done when Erica gasped and squeezed his hand.

A red, bleeding bite mark soaked her tank top at the shoulder. The blood stopped quickly/ Leaving the wound open was less painful. Laura and Erica curled up on the couch together and waited. Stiles moved to the big chair that was usually Boyd’s, but he didn’t need it, he could barely stand still, let alone sit. Derek and Boyd both came in and out of the living room, doing the intricate dance of the aimlessly worried. Boyd occupied himself by asking questions and tesing himself endlessly, but the wolf hadn't manifested besides his ability to heal. That was always first. 

Soon Erica was asleep. When the fever came it was a good sign, but a painful one. She shook and coughed, aches and stabbing pains tearing through her, just like Boyd. Unlike Boyd, she had Stiles. Boyd wouldn't let him help because he wanted Stiles to take care of Erica. Derek had helped him through it as well as he could, but Stiles was relentless, draining away every pain, every discomfort he could find as it happened. It didn’t seem to help Laura with her anxiety. 

A few hours in he wasn't burning off the sick, black energy anymore because he had finally found his limit. He kept going, letting it build inside him until he was nauseous and sweating like Derek had been before. Laura pushed him away, telling Derek to take him. He argued, but Laura had already worked through the empathy destroying her ability to focus. She was sharp and paying close enough attention and she wasn't going to let him get away with pushing himself too far. He slunk away in defeat, feeling broken and useless. Derek was comforting, Stiles didn't listen much to what he said, but having him to hold onto felt the same as fresh air and clean rain after a long, muggy summer. 

“It helps if you try to focus on sending it to your stomach. It pools there and you’ll be sick, but you’ll feel better.” Derek rubbed his back as he leaned over the railing of the deck. 

“Kinda like those last few shots, huh?” Stiles smiled. 

“Can’t get drunk anymore,” Derek said, not realising he was breaking devastating news. 

“What? I can’t--what have you people done to me?” Stiles scowled at him angrily. 

Derek looked concerned for a moment, like he thought Stiles was serious until he stared just a bit too long. Derek’s face broke into a grin and he shook his head. “This has to be better than cheap whiskey drunk,” he promised. 

“Lies. You're all full of lies. All my best memories directly revolve around being drunk on cheap whiskey.” 

“All of them?” Derek asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“There’s this one memory I really wish I could repeat. But, you know, we keep finding ourselves in places like this, doing things like what I’m about to do. Kinda kills the--” Stiles stopped, the nausea stabbing at his gut sharply. 

“That was fast,” Derek said, his hands on Stiles’ shoulders as he pushed him to the end of the deck. 

Derek was right about feeling better once his stomach was empty. Unfortunately it also gave Stiles a stark, painful reminder of just how dehydrated and hungry he had let himself get. They were sitting in the kitchen with hot tea and snacks when Laura shouted for him. Rushing through the house, he heard the banging before he saw Erica convulsing. Her eyes were open and fixed on him. Her hands were twisted into claws already. Her long black nails digging into Laura’s forearm while Boyd held her against his chest. 

Sweat poured down her face as he laid his hands on her chest and neck, trying to stay away from the long, deadly claws that gripped and clutched at nothing. Derek grabbed her hand and she held on like she understood what was happening. Her eyes searched Stiles', looking for answers, or maybe relief, but he couldn’t find any pain. His mind moved over the powerful, red rivers of energy that flowed through her. As he explored he began to recognise the flow of energy, like remembering a route you had driven more than once. 

Pushing Derek’s hand away he threaded his fingers through hers and confirmed it. The black, viscous pain she had suffered with for years had burned tracks through her body, like tunnels burrowed through her nervous system. Stiles had unwittingly emptied those tracks, giving the wolf permission to grow into the space like a plant in fertile soil. It was too big and powerful, it was eating her alive from the inside out. 

“You know. What is it?” Laura demanded. 

A loud cracking sound distracted them, then Erica screamed. Laura held her down as her body convulsed and warped. The scream turned into a growl as Erica changed right in front of them. Derek dragged Boyd away as Laura struggled with Erica, her body changing as fast as Laura got a grip on it. Stiles reached out to help her as Erica became more wolf than human, digging his hands into the thick white mane around her neck. Suddenly there was no more Erica, only a giant, white wolf snapping and growling at Laura viciously. 

The bright red of Laura’s eyes suddenly faded and she toppled over, landing on the floor as Erica broke free from his grip. Stiles chased after her, but he was quickly pushed out of the way by Derek and Boyd. Erica was too fast. She slammed head first into the sliding door, shattering the glass, and leapt off the deck into the woods before Derek could catch her. He disappeared over the side of the deck and both of them were gone. 

Rushing back to Laura he picked her up and listened to make sure she was alive. Her shallow breathing and slow heart was a bad sign. Boyd hung over the railing shouting Erica’s name. They needed Laura. They had to have her to find Erica and bring her back. She wasn't able to bring Derek back because he was too heartbroken, but Erica wanted to live. She wanted to be whole again. Laura could force her back if she wasn't long gone. Stiles shouted Laura’s name and shook her. Her heartbeat quickened and he waited, but nothing happened. He screamed louder, rattling his own bones with the noise, but she still didn't wake up. 

Hitting her felt wrong, but it was the only thing he could think of that might work. He slapped her first, hearing her heart jump at the pain. He slapped her again, but nothing changed. His hand balled in the front of her shirt. He closed his fist and punched her as hard as he could in the jaw. The bones cracked in his hand, and hers shifted unnaturally. He dropped her on the floor and held his hand to his chest, unwilling to strike her again. Her eyes fluttered open and she groaned, clenching her teeth as her jaw popped and flexed back in place. 

“I’m sorry, I--” Stiles started to apologize.

“Shut up, for fucks sake,” Laura muttered, rolling over and lifting herself to her feet painfully. 

Following Boyd out to the deck, Laura pushed herself up on the rail, teetering like she was just as likely to fall as jump. 

“Laura, no, there’s something wrong with you,” Stiles said, hoping she would stop and figure out what it was before. 

“She was draining my power somehow. As long as I don’t touch her again I should be fine in a little while.” She glanced back at him then dropped to the ground and ran into the woods, leaving them with no idea what to do. 

“We should drive, or follow them,” Boyd said, staring into the forest like he was stunned. 

“Derek went back to the Hale house, she might come back here. We have to stay,” Stiles pointed out, tugging on Boyd’s sleeve to guide him back in the house. 

It was like Boyd couldn’t force himself to sit still, which Stiles understood on a very personal level, but Boyd was usually a quiet pillar of unshakable silence when shit went down at work. Now he was frantic, desperate and pacing. He cleaned up the broken glass, and even taped up the ripped cushions on the couch and turned them over. 

“Boyd, talk to me. Stop moving and talk to me,” Stiles said, pointing to the chair next to him. 

“What am I supposed to say,” he asked, holding his hands up in frustration. 

“You can punch me now if that helps? I mean you can’t kill me by punching me now, not like you could before. I think, maybe,” Stiles frowned, unsure if Boyd’s original strength would translate the same. 

“I’m not punching you,” Boyd said, sounding like was threatening to do it, not denying him. 

“Say it meaner, it’ll really scare me then,” Stiles said, hoping to piss him off or make him laugh, either way it would tip him over into something less impotent than frustration. 

“I know what you’re trying to do,” Boyd said as he dropped into the seat next to Stiles. 

“Yeah? I don’t doubt that. God is cruel.” 

“What the fuck does that mean?” 

“It means not only are you taller, more attractive, and more charming than me, you are also smarter. So, fuck you,” Stiles said, throwing his feet up on Boyd’s living room table defiantly. 

“You’re an asshole,” Boyd said, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs, his hands dangling between his knes. He looked completely defeated and lost. 

“I am, but I give a shit.... We both know wolves, right? But you know wolves like nobody's business, being our resident behavior specialist and all,” Stiles pointed out. 

“Yeah?” Boyd said, looking at Stiles like he was stupid. “You mean Erica? Is she really that much of a wolf right now?” he asked, not really understanding what he had seen. 

“Think about it, Derek barely hid being human. He was more like a person than a wolf and he said he thought like a wolf and felt like one. What we just saw was not someone who recognized the people they love,” Stiles pointed out. 

“Angry wolf.... terrified wolf,” Boyd corrected himself, then rubbed his hands over his face roughly like he was trying to think. “It doesn’t make any sense that she’d run. She wasn’t in any danger, even if she was scared. She’d want family, protection. She hates being alone,” Boyd said, thinking out loud. 

“Where does her family live?” Stiles asked, realizing he had never seen or heard about Erica’s family beyond Boyd. 

“They’re dead, she was in foster care all through school. She had no one, doesn’t even know who who parents were. She only stayed in town because Chris hired her up at the sanctuary the summer between her junior and senior year,” Boyd said. 

“Chris,” Stiles blurted out, looking up at Boyd for confirmation. 

“I’ll call, you call Laura,” Boyd said, pulling his phone out of his pocket. 

Laura’s phone went straight to voicemail, but Boyd had Chris on speakerphone. Erica was at the sanctuary. Chris had just seen her run through the parking lot and into the woods. They had armed themselves with tranquilizer rounds and blocked off the road thinking she was a sick or stray wolf trying to find a new pack. Boyd gave Chris a brutal, quick explanation and they headed over to the sanctuary. 

At the bottom of the road leading to the sanctuary Laura ran into the road ahead of them, pacing the car as they slowed and let her in. She looked better but not nearly okay enough to be pushing herself as hard as she was. Stiles asked her what she had seen and she shook her head, falling into the backseat with her eyes closed until they pulled into the parking lot. Allison showed her face in the window, checking on them. She had a long barreled rifle in her hands that made Stiles nervous even though he knew it wasn’t deadly. 

Waving to her, she held her hand up in response then walked away from the window. Chris came out to meet them, rifle in hand as well. Boyd was already gone, probably headed to the access road around the sanctuary to see if Erica was there, or close by. Stiles stood in the door of the car, watching Laura silently. Chris waited for a few moments respectfully before he gave up on being accommodating for the half passed out Laura in the back seat of Erica’s car, and started asking questions. 

“Stiles, why is this happening? What is the end game here because from my point of view things are getting more dangerous for everyone by the minute,” Chris asked quietly, but insistently. 

“It was meant to help, it was her only chance. She was deteriorating Chris. In a way she was never going to come back from.”

“We all knew that was going to happen, but--” 

“What were we supposed to do, sit around and watch her waste away when we could give her something better?” Stiles asked. 

“Did she want this? Did she ask for it, or did someone tempt her with an offer someone like her would never be able to refuse?” Chris asked, rightfully suspicious of the circumstances. 

“Derek offered, but he did it for the right reasons. I swear to you Chris, there is nothing here but us trying to take care of her. Shit just went spectacularly sideways and now we need your help to get her back.” 

“Me? What do I have to do with any of this?” Chris asked. 

“She came for you. She’s thinking like one of them.” Stiles pointed to the wolves in the sanctuary. “She's scared, and she came to you.” 

Clarity played across Chris’s face, first softening his expression then infusing it with a quiet determination. They could count on Chris now that he understood, but he still didn't understand the stakes. The sound of Boyd’s voice echoing through the valley distracted him. Laura sat up and held out her hand to be helped out of the back seat of the car. She nodded to Chris and started making her way around the hood, toward the woods when Chris stopped her. 

“Laura, you look like shit. You’re no good to her like this. Go inside and rest. If she came for me, she’ll come to me. You guys will only distract her or scare her away,” Chris said with the kind of authority Stiles couldn’t argue with. Laura started to protest but Chris gave her a hard look, stopping the arguement before it started. 

“Derek is out there,” she said, looking toward the trees. 

“I’ll go tell him to come back,” Stiles offered. 

Laura nodded and Stiles ran toward the tree line calling Derek’s name. When they were all back inside they gathered in the staff room first, but it got too crowded. They headed toward the garage, making the hood of the transport Jeep their impromptu base of operations. A map of the valley was laid out on the hood of the Jeep, held down with butcher knives and coffee cups, red marks noting where Erica had been seen. Chris and Allison walked the perimeter a few times before giving up for the night. Allison went home but Chris fell asleep in the staff room, not wanting to risk Erica following him home. 

The next day they kept the road closed, cancelling the tours and feeding the public a warning about a stray wolf in the valley that could be sick and potentially dangerous. His dad came out to help, as well as Scott. They stayed inside the sanctuary, walking the access road around the perimeter just to make sure the wolves were okay. He and Derek used their breaks from searching to care for the wolves, taking the time to play with them and run through the acres so they didn’t get too stressed from all the excitement. 

By the end of the day no one had seen Erica, but Laura could feel her close by. The second day was the day before the full moon. They stepped up their efforts, following Laura’s direction and Chris’s instinct. They worked well together dictating the packs movements and where the search efforts should be concentrated. When Laura began to break up and lose focus Chris held her together with kind words and encouragement. He couldn’t help anymore when Laura gave up hope though. Stiles recognize a breaking point when he saw one. 

“She’s gone Chris. She’s not even herself anymore, there’s no point in doing this. If she doesn't want to be with us, what can we do? Lock her up in here for the next decade and hope some asshole comes along and get’s through to her?” Laura flung angry words he knew weren't really meant for him, but they stung all the same. 

“We have to stop looking for her. We have to make her come to us,” Boyd said. 

“We’ve been waiting for her to come to us,” Stiles pointed out. 

“No, I think we need to make her curious. We have to make her want to come to us. I’m so stupid. If she was a wolf I would have tricked her into following me, enticed her with something she wanted and made her come get it,” Boyd explained. 

“What does that mean?” Allison asked, more invested than Stiles ever expected her to be. 

“She can think more and sense things a regular wolf can’t, which is where my head has been instead of concentrating more on the wolf part. We have to stop running her off with fear and worry. With actual wolves we use treats, playfulness, and fun to entice them. We need to do things she likes enough she wants to come check it out,” Boyd explained. “We aren’t going to catch her, obviously. So, we have to trick her.”

“That might work. I know why I ran and I know why I stayed. It was human motivation buried under wolf instinct. Boyd is right,” Derek said, backing Boyd up. “I can’t even get close to her. She was already faster than me and now she’s doubled back on her own tracks so many times everything smells like her. I’ve been hoping to hear or see her near where Laura points us, but Erica's too good at this.” Derek shook his head, slumped over in his seat like he was just as surprised by Erica’s ingenuity as he was disappointed in himself. 

“We have to get to her before the full moon,” Laura said, sounding gravely concerned, but a little hopeful again. 

“What happens to her on the full moon?” Stiles asked. 

“Being in wolf form on the full moon is different,” Laura said, not answering the question at all, but she couldn’t change into one so maybe she didn’t know. 

Stiles looked to Derek, who glanced at the floor uncomfortably then sat up. “It’s better than anything. It’s exciting and all you want to do is run. It’s easy to enjoy it so much you forget that this life is where you actually want to be,” Derek explained. 

“I can’t lose her to this. Not like that.” The worry and stress had been working hard against Boyd, but he stayed focused. His voice wavered. Allison, who never seemed to be too far away from him, was right at his side. She leaned into him, hugging him awkwardly enough to take his attention away from breaking down. 

Unable to care about what he was going through himself, Boyd worked relentlessly, until Laura asked him to stop. She made him take care of himself a little, then showed him how to use his abilities to track Erica. If his heightened senses hadn’t helped so much, Stiles was certain Boyd would have ignored them as much as he had ignored how hungry and tired he was. 

“Lets order Bellagios, its her favorite. If we have to entice her, let’s start hitting her hard, below the belt. List off all the shit she likes about her life. We don’t have anything to lose,” Stiles pointed out. 

“I’ll make a list with Boyd and then we’ll make some kind of plan,” Allison offered. 

“I think Chris should do it,” Laura suggested. Unfortunately her approach to things tended to work a lot like sledgehammering something until it worked, or didn’t. As far as she wa concerned Chris was the only one with a valid opinion. 

“I might not be around as much, but Erica was the big sister I wished I had. I know everything about her,” Allison insisted. 

“She’s right, Allison probably does know more about what she likes than anyone else.” Boyd sounded oddly defeated.

“You spend all your time and energy loving her and taking care of her,” Allison defended Boyd’s priorities for Boyd, but it didn’t look like it helped much. 

“Maybe if I had lived more with her instead of concentrating on taking care of her all the time, she would have ran to me instead of you and Chris.” Boyd was cracking, fast, and nearly everyone in the room besides himself looked like they were going to be sick from it. 

They were all too haggard and worn out to be much use to Boyd, except Allison apparently. Stiles gestured for Laura to go, she pulled Derek to his feet. Everyone followed her leaving him with Allison, Boyd, and a mission. Allison had to put Boyd back together before they could move forward and make their list. 

Watching her work him over was like watching a miracle unfold in front of him. Allison pointed out all the freedom Boyd afforded Erica, all the life he helped her live outside of what they had. She pointed out how selfless it was, and how dependent they were on each other, but how good it was for both of them. Stiles picked up that Boyd had lost his own parents, and his sister, then grew up with grandparents who had only recently passed away. He didn’t think it was a coincident that all the people who had gravitated toward the wolves were lost and alone in the world, except the Argents. 

Of course he had his father, but his father had his job. The love was always there, but he spent more time with Scott and Melissa than his own dad. Then Allison came along, and she was amazing, beautiful, smart, and completely in love with Scott. Stiles had to back off and let them happen. He had been lonely and drifting for too long when Chris dropped the job opening at the sanctuary in his lap. Stiles, Erica, Boyd, Derek and Laura were a family waiting to happen, if they could get Erica back. If they couldn’t it would break their hearts and rip them apart from the inside out. They couldn’t let that happen. 

The list of things they came up with looked trite and stupid when Stiles read them back. “This list is ridiculous, we’re supposed to get her to come back with pumpkin latte and The Fifth Element movie?” Stiles asked. 

Allison gave him a hard glare. She was worried about his big mouth undoing all she had done for Boyd, but Boyd smiled and shook his head. “You don’t know how much she likes The Fifth Element,” he laughed. “She can quote every line in that movie, with inflection.” 

“She loves it Stiles. Her life was really different from ours. All those things mean a lot to her because they taught her something or brought her stability. For a long time she had things, not people,” Allison pointed out. 

“Then we need to write that shit down too, so everyone understands. Laura’s going to take one look at this list and say the exact same thing I did if we don’t,” he pointed out. Boyd and Allison looked at each other, then agreed reluctantly. Some of the things on the list were probably very personal, but that didn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things. “C’mon, shed some light on the pumpkin lattes Allison.” Stiles smiled, his hand hovering over his field notebook. 

When they were done they gave the list to Chris, who read it over, but grabbed a new sheet of paper off his desk for the plan. “What the hell happened to this thing Stiles? Did you lose it in the bays?” Chris asked, tapping the wolf shaped bite marks on the cover. 

“No, it got taken on vacation when Derek took off. He gave it back to me a couple days ago. I haven’t had much of a chance to fix it,” Stiles said. 

“Fix it? Just get a new one,” Chris said absently as he wrote down a note, then picked up the phone. 

The idea of getting a new field notebook felt abhorrent and excessive, even though he understood it was a totally reasonable thing to do. He was attached to it in a way he didn’t really want to admit. It had seen him through days where he didn’t want to exist. Days when he considered how much better off the world would be without him in it. It was just a notebook, but inside were meandering, entertaining, hyperbolic instructions on how to stay alive. He wasn’t sure they would apply anymore though, and he didn’t know how to feel about that. He was different now, but it was so new he wasn't sure how he worked yet. A new notebook would be too much new right now on top of everything else. 

A few hours later the sun was close to setting and they were sitting in the open field near the garage, just outside the high perimeter fence. Everyone, even Boyd, was eating, talking and laughing. Whether or not Erica came to witness this, they needed it. The wolves were always restless the night before the full moon, but this time Stiles felt it too. It was a cold, heavy sensation in his chest, like something was pulling him, but it had no specific direction. Laying on the scratchy wool emergency blanket with Derek and eating an excessive amount of pizza made him feel like a person again. 

“There she is,” Scott whispered quietly. 

Everyone turned to see a round white face peeking out of the underbrush. She walked into the annex road and headed toward them with no hesitation at all. Stiles sat up and watched as she got closer. Everyone held their breath, but she looked relaxed, until her front paws danced up, glancing off the ground suddenly. She yelped and shook her head like something bit her. Then she ran like she had been spooked. 

“What was that?” Laura asked, just as aware as everyone else that no one had done anything that might alarm Erica in the least. They barely moved or made any noise. 

Derek went to the fence and checked out the wolves, he turned and shook his head, silently telling them nothing remarkable was happening there either. A few seconds later she showed her face again, but kept her distance, vanishing again after a few moments of watching them intently. 

“This was a terrible plan,” Allison said loudly, tossing her plate down on the blanket next to Chris. “You always think you know how everyone else should be doing things, but you don’t know people like you think you do,” she said to Chris, her voice rising in pitch the more upset she got. 

“Allison?” Chris searched her face for an explanation as why she was suddenly so upset. 

“You spend too much time with these dogs, and not enough time with your family!” Allison pitched at him, her voice almost juvenile as she got louder and more insistent. 

“Allison,” Chris put on a determined face and climbed to his feet, helping Allison up before he crossed his arms and scowled at her. “We can talk about this later,” Chris said in a remarkably dad-like tone. 

“Later? You don’t have later because you’re exhausted by the time you get home, and even if you do talk to me you’re so tired you can’t have a real conversation!” Allison raised her voice further as she dug into Chris brutally. 

Erica came stalking out of the woods, making a determined line for Allison and Chris. 

“I can’t even stand to come home from school anymore. No matter how much time I spend here, you still don’t want me around., You’re always passing me off to other people, pretending I’m here because I like this stupid place. Well, I don’t!” Allison stopped as Erica danced back again, shaking her fur like she was trying to dry off, or get rid of something, but this time she didn’t run. Stiles watched as Scott slid the tranquilizer gun out from under the blanket slowly, keeping it on the ground. 

“Allison, we can talk about this at home...” Chris said, less invested in the conversation than he was in Erica, he let his voice trail off. Erica took a tentative step toward them, her head hung low. “My work is important to me, which is why it’s inappropriate to have this conversation here.” Chris grabbed Allison’s arm and Erica moved toward them quickly. Allison moved fast, grabbing the gun Scott held up and managed to shoot Erica twice before she could get back to the tree line. 

The heavy tranquilizers were never going to stop her, only slow her down. She stumbled as the sedative hit her system, then fell to the ground whining loudly like she was hurt, her front paws jerking in an odd way again. Laura, Derek and Boyd ran after her, but Stiles sat immobile, feeling like he was missing something big. Laura and Derek restrained her, taking her into the garage where Allison had laid out a circle of mountain ash where the transport Jeep used to be. Erica was already recovering from the massive dose of tranquilizers after a couple minutes, but she didn't struggle much trapped between Laura and Derek. 

Following them into the garage, Stiles couldn’t help but consider the real possibility they were doing it all wrong. They were so focused on physically containing Erica they forgot about the bigger picture. Everyone wanted to get her inside the barrier. That was the goal, to have her contained and controlled, so that’s what they did. But trapping her might make things much worse, just like it did with Derek. If she didn’t want to be there, all she would fixate on was getting away, she wouldn’t be paying much attention to them besides the opportunities they gave her to escape. 

“She didn’t put up much of a fight,” Laura said as Allison quickly closed the mountain ash line. Laura barely had time to step away as she dropped Erica inside, her hand snapping back as it caught on the invisible barrier that now surrounded Erica. 

Pressing against the edge of her supernatural cage, Erica snapped and clawed at it, proving how strong the mountain ash actually was. Stiles watched her closely as everyone around him argued and talked to her. Eventually Erica laid on the ground, lowering her head to her paws, listening, but looking like she didn't care about them at all. It was dark outside and everyone was restless or exhausted. They all vanished one by one until it was only him, Scott and Allison. 

“That argument out there was fucked up,” Scott said, breaking the silence that had fallen over them. Erica had laid over on her side like she was trying to sleep. Her front paws twitched and her eyes shot open, but the action was so fast he wasn't sure if it was the same as what had happened before. “I didn’t know you felt that way about this place,” Scott said, not quite understanding what had happened. 

“I haven’t felt that way for years. That was a rerun of an argument Erica saw once when I was home from school my freshman year. I was so mad and stupid. I acted like an entitled brat and Erica told me so. I missed everyone and I actually thought my dad should just drop work for the summer and spend all his time with me. He didn’t, of course. So, I came out here and insinuated myself. When he didn't give me the attention I thought I deserved, I picked fights with him,” Allison explained. 

“I get you. I’m pretty sure I did exactly that. More than a couple times, right in the middle of the Sheriff’s station,” Stiles said, easily commiserating with the sentiment. 

“Who do you think I got the idea from,” Allison laughed. “I heard about the Cordova incident, but at least you got an epic camping trip out of it, right?” Allison grinned. 

Stiles smiled, about to say how much he hated camping, but Erica’s front paws twitched again. She shot up, looking at all of them like she was alarmed. Her eyes immediately started to droop like she was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep. She dropped her head to her paws, a long, plaintive whine emanating from her like a plea for help. 

“There’s something wrong with her. It’s like every couple minutes or so something hurts her, but that doesn’t make any sense. How can pain run on a timer?” Stiles said, thinking out loud. Everyone silently watched Erica, but nothing happened except droopy eyes and twitching ears. 

“Oh my god, Stiles, the implant.” Allison gasped and covered her mouth like she was horrified. “The implant for her seizures sends electrical impulses into her brain about every minute.” Allison dropped to the floor right outside the ash line like she wanted to crawl inside the circle and comfort Erica. 

He slid off his seat and went to the edge of the ash line next to her and called Erica over. She sat up and watched Stiles curiously, but didn’t move closer. 

“You’re going to have to let me in. I think she’ll let me take it out,” Stiles said. 

“Take it out? You can’t--we need to take her to the annex and--” 

“And what, sedate her and cut her open? With what? She’ll heal Allison, a lot faster than we can prep all that shit.” 

“You can’t just rip it out of her Stiles. It’s connected to nerves in her brain. Stuff like that doesn’t just heal,” Allison argued. 

“For us, it does.” Stiles was sure this was true because it was one of the things Derek had detailed for his father, selling the Sheriff on how bullet proof his son was now. “C’mon Allison, break it. I know what I’m doing.” Stiles gestured toward the ash line because it wasn’t going to break itself and he couldn't do it. 

“No, I’m not going to watch you rip it out of her. She needs medical treatment, not brutality,” Allison argued, the determination in her voice real. 

Scott got up and walked to the line, kicking it lightly. The ash scattered and Stiles felt the tense energy in the room vanish. Not giving anyone any more time to hesitate, Stiles fixed his eyes on Erica and moved toward her. She watched him, her head hung low, but she didn’t try to run. He took a deep breath as his fingers slid into the fur at her neck, latching on as he investigated where the implant might be. She wasn’t built the same, but it had to be in the same general area. 

Pressing into her skin, through her thick fur, Stiles checked over her chest and shoulder but didn’t find anything. Suddenly her eyes focused to pinpoints and a sharp, high pitched noise emanated from her, just barely audible as close as he was. His fingers picked up a buzzing sensation close to her neck, but she started to struggle against him like she forgot she was participating willingly. Stiles pressed his fingers into her neck more insistently, trying to hold her still and find the implant at the same time. He brushed against something hard and Erica jumped, snapping at him. 

“No, no, Erica,” Allison held her hands out and approached her. Erica whined and stretched herself toward Allison. 

Stiles wasn’t waiting, Erica was distracted wanting Allison. He held her by the scruff even tighter and found the hard edge of something. He pressing into it to make sure it wasn’t organic before willing his claws to surface. He had never used them for anything, but slicing through fur and skin was fast and easy. He dug his claws in, hooking them around the implant. He pulled sharply and the small, flat device slid out, a long, thin rubber tube snaking out after it. 

A long, painful howl, resonated in his ears. Erica fell against the ground, her front legs moving like she was convulsing. Allison, turned her over, heaving from the effort as he held the device in his hand. It was grey, plastic, and covered in blood. He inspected it, wondering how such a small, unobtrusive thing could do so much damage to one person while it saved the life of another. 

“Dude, are you okay?” Scott asked, eyeing the blood dripping down his arm. 

“I think I don’t like hurting people,” Stiles said, feeling sick from the smell of the blood. 

Everyone came pouring into the garage like a wave of chaos. Chris took the implant from him and cleaned him up while everyone else assessed Erica and what had happened. Allison told the story, still looming over Erica who hadn’t gotten up yet. 

“She should be fine, it might take a minute to heal up, but she’ll be okay,” Laura promised Allison. Laura folded up her legs and made herself comfortable next to Allison and Erica. Boyd joined them, but Derek gravitated toward Stiles. 

“I can’t believe you figured that out,” Derek said, rolling Stiles’ bloody sleeve up in itself until it looked clean again. 

“I didn’t, Allison did,” Stiles insisted. 

Letting Derek wrap him up in strong, heavy arms felt like permission to give up for a few minutes. Like everyone else had been focused on getting her inside, he had been so focused on figuring out what was wrong with her and fixing it, he didn’t take the time to consider what came next. He had done what he had to. It was better for Erica in the end, but the pain it cause her was brutal and maybe unnecessary. He was in such a hurry to solve the problem he rationalized the consequences away. 

“I should have waited, or talked to you guys before I did that,” Stiles said, not quite sure where the insecurity and guilt was coming from. 

“You followed your instinct, she’s fine. She will be fine,” Derek assured him. 

“I feel like such a piece of shit right now, and I’m--” Stiles stopped talking as his throat tightened and his chest started to ache. 

Derek tucked Stiles’ head down against his neck and raised his arms around his shoulders, holding Stiles like he could block out the rest of the world for a few minutes, maybe. 

Hopelessness and guilt burned through him, leaving him wrecked and lost. He might have staved off a momentary problem, but it was his fault there was one to begin with. Telling Derek about the consequences of taking Erica’s pain, whispering to him how the wolf had so much space to grow too fast through the hot, stinging tears of self pity was awful and humiliating. Stiles wanted to scream, or rage at something, but with everyone else around he was sure he wouldn’t get very far. 

“You’ve been cleaning up our mess the whole time. We didn’t know what was going to happen. All the history we had left went with Deaton, but we decided to risk it anyways and it blew up in our faces.” Derek’s words sounded good, and reasonable, but they couldn’t shake off the responsibility he felt for leaving Erica vulnerable to begin with. “All that pain and misery had taken root so deep it was already killing her. Because of you she went in clean and had a chance in hell of surviving it,” Derek said quietly, attempting to make the words just for them, but the deafening silence in the room meant everyone else was listening as well. 

“She’s okay Stiles,” Laura’s voice rang out in the quiet room. 

Laura sounded young and too vulnerable. He wanted her to make him stop crying about things and be strong, but for some reason she was looking at him like she needed his approval. Taking in Erica, and the group of loyal people around her, it was obvious she was fine now. She wasn’t human yet, but she was whole and alert, and she didn't need him anymore. He couldn’t stay. All he would do was wallow in his own bullshit and make everyone miserable when they were supposed to be helping Erica. He was done. 

Saying goodbye wasn’t an option. If he started to, he would end up staying. He cared more about any of them than he cared about himself, especially at that moment, but he had run out of motivation. He smiled at Scott and squeezed Allison’s hand as she held it up for him, then he was out the door, Derek close behind. The second they pulled out of the parking lot all the weight of being in the middle of the crisis for so long lifted off his chest. He could breathe again, but the clarity struck him hard and mercilessly. 

Laying his head against his knees, he tucked his hands behind his head and pulled his elbows in, hiding himself from the world. He hadn’t hidden away like that since the day he was sent home from school, expelled for something he hadn’t even done. Knowing he would be suspected and hated for the rest of his life, reeling from the brutal injustice of it all. His choices were his responsibility though. He was questioning all the choices that made Erica vulnerable, tearing into himself and laying his motivations bare. He wanted to help, thats all he wanted to do, but they had almost lost her. He had no idea how much of that was his fault, and how much of it was circumstance. 

He would never know. There was no one to tell him for sure, and no way to weigh it all out that was better than his own judgement. He would have to let himself off the hook and he didn’t want to. That was the part the frustrated him. Having to answer to himself for doing something extreme, for using the gifts he’d been given. That wasn’t something he was prepared to do. He was too young and stupid to be allowed that much power. The universe had made so many mistakes bringing Stiles to this place in his life. He was the wrong guy for the job, and he knew it. 

Coming to a sudden stop, Derek shut off the Camaro and put it in park. Stiles didn’t think they had driven far enough to be at his house, but he didn’t expect to be staring out at the city of Beacon Hills from the edge of the bluff. 

“What the hell are we doing up here?” Stiles asked. 

Derek didn’t answer him, he just handed Stiles a pile of napkins from the glove compartment and waited silently while Stiles cleaned up his red, wet face. Somewhere along the line he had lost most of his shame with Derek. He didn’t worry anymore about crying in front of him, blowing his nose, or saying shit that he would never say to another person, ever. He was hyper aware of how little he cared as he tossed the wadded up napkins on Derek’s floorboard, knowing Derek would probably be the one to clean them up later. 

Spending time on the bluff wasn’t something he did. Stiles had only been up here once, with Scott, and they came up to get drunk. It was a stupid idea. It landed them both in a holding cell for the night when a deputy found them draped over the hood of Scott’s car, laughing hysterically at nothing. Getting caught and locked up didn’t teach them to stop drinking hazardously, it just taught them to find better places to do it. It was beautiful though. The whole city laid out in front of them, the grey, smoky haze of summer fires and construction made the city lights look like they glowed at night. Usually he would call it light pollution, but he was in a forgiving mood. 

“It’s really beautiful,” Stiles said finally, leaning back in his seat. His tired, aching muscles relaxed as he let the tension of the day go, making him feel old and worn out. It was good to stop though. He hadn't slept in a couple of days and it was finally catching up to him. He was surprised how long it took, he had been expecting to lose steam long before. “Did you used to come up here a lot?” he asked, not really wanting to know what Derek did up here, more like how much he liked it.

“A couple times, but I never spent much time actually looking at the city,” Derek admitted. 

“Of course you didn’t,” Stiles snickered. Most people went to the bluff to have awkward car sex because they had parents at home. “Did you bring me up here to make out with me?” Stiles asked, half joking with no intention of following through. He looked and felt like shit still. 

“I brought you up here to make you feel better. How we accomplish that is up to you.” Derek was far too genuine to be as smooth as line sounded. 

“I can't tell if you mean that,” Stiles laughed 

Derek grinned like he was proud of himself for making Stiles smile. He didn’t remember being such a melancholy person that making him laugh should be so remarkable, but there hadn’t been too many occasions to be happy with Derek in his current incarnation. Everything seemed to explode around them intermittently, like life was trying to reset itself over and over again. They kept rolling with the punches. He wondered when it was going to stop, or if living this life meant living with constant chaos. 

A hand wrapped around the back of his neck as Derek pleasantly invaded his space, destroying his ability to think about anything else. It was easy to let everything go when Derek was there to distract him. Stiles wanted to check out. That was the point of leaving the sanctuary, but trouble followed him because he couldn't get away from himself. He didn't have to get away from himself anymore when all he wanted was to touch Derek. He wanted Derek’s hands in his hair, his lips on his skin. Derek’s forehead pressed against his. Stiles had thought about it often, but he held off and kept his distance so he wouldn’t ruin his chance to have it in the future. It was easily the most cautious, pragmatic gamble he had ever made in his life. 

Derek had touched him since that night months ago, but never with the intention of doing anything more than comforting him. Where they were meant it wasn’t going to be anything like falling asleep together because they were both worn to the bone and brutalized by life. 

“Do you want to kiss me?” Derek asked. 

Patience and time were were quickly running out on him. He balled his fists up in Derek’s shirt and dragged him over to his side of the car. Derek flipped the lever on the seat, letting it fall back as he straddled Stiles, hovering over him eagerly. Taking off Derek’s shirt was apparently one of his favorite things on the world to do. Watching his gracefully muscled torso move and twist as he stretched himself out of it was mesmerizing. The thick, coarse hair that covered his chest was such a contrast to his pale, soft skin, Stiles couldn't help but run his hands over it curiously. 

Derek leaned into his touch, pressing his fingers in his chest as his hands fought with Stiles’ clothes. He tried to be compliant like Derek was, but he was far more interested in touching Derek than being naked, until Derek pinned his hands against the headrest and pressed his lips against Stiles’. Derek kissed him deep and intense. Possessively, like he didn’t care how Stiles wanted to be kissed. He wasn’t waiting and watching for clues anymore. A satisfied hum escaped his mouth, inspiring Derek to drop his hands in favor of sliding them down his chest. He lifted his hips when Derek urged him on, grinding himself against Derek. He intentionally moved at an agonizingly slow pace, trying to delay gratification for both of them. 

It had been far too long since he had done this with himself, let alone another person. He didn’t want it to be over before he had a chance to blissfully torture himself, and hopefully Derek as well. He slid his hands down Derek’s back, the ripple of muscle under his fingers making him hum appreciatively again. 

“I like that sound,” Derek said, breaking the seal between their lips for just long enough to speak, but not long enough for Stiles to respond. 

In retaliation Stiles slid his hands into Derek’s pants, trapping him between Stiles’ hips and hands. He moaned against Derek’s mouth as Derk dragged himself against Stiles. The thrilling, electric bliss built up too fast. Derek pulled away and looked down at him, smiling like he was proud of himself. 

“Fuck, this is crazy shit. Grinding on each other awkwardly in a car at Lookout Point like stupid kids?” Stiles laughed breathlessly, not really minding at all. 

“I’m a stupid kid. I wanna keep being a stupid kid, but we can go back to the loft if you want to?” Derek smiled above him, as his eyes tracked where Stiles hoped his lips were going next. 

“No, I don’t mind. With you, out here, I feel like the nerdy kid who accidentally snagged the hot jock,” Stiles said, dragging his eyes over Derek’s powerful, athletic body. 

“You should stop talking,” Derek said, diplomatically telling him to shut up before he said anything really stupid. 

Turning his brain off as Derek laid into him was easier than he thought it would be. The blissful, urgent rhythm of his body against Derek’s was enthralling. He pressed his fingers into Derek’s hips, trying to slow them down, but he didn’t really want to anymore. He slid down in the seat slightly so Derek was laying on him instead of looming over him, and gave in to the intensity of kissing Derek with his whole body. A fierce, satisfying climax surged through him, spilling out of his mouth in low, urgent sounds. He held on to Derek’s rolling hips as he mercilessly rocked himself against Stiles again and again looking for the same release. His hips jerked forward then relaxed as he fell against Stiles, breathing heavy against his neck. 

Dragging his fingers over Derek’s sweat slicked back, Stiles buried his face against Derek’s shoulder and breathed deep. Intoxicating, euphoric scents rolled off Derek’s skin in waves. It took him a moment of following his nose over Derek’s chest and neck to realize it probably wasn’t normal behavior. Derek silently watched him with bright, radiating blue eyes. His eyes were half open, but curious, like he wanted Stiles to keep doing what he was doing. Pressing his face into Derek’s chest and licking up the thin sheen of sweat, he had to ask before he followed his instincts into strange territory. 

“Why do you smell so good?” Stiles asked. 

“Pheromones,” Derek answered breathlessly as Stiles leaned him back against the dash so her could get a little closer to the source of the intensity. 

“Do I have the same kind of scent?” Stiles asked, looking up at Derek from dangerously close to his zipper. 

“Yes.” 

“How the hell have you kept your hands off me?” Stiles breathed against his skin, kissing and licking Derek’s stomach. 

“You have to stop,” Derek said, holding his hands against Stiles shoulders. 

“Why?” Stiles asked. 

“I want us both to feel better, but if we don’t stop we’re going to go a lot further than this and I don’t want to do that here,” Derek said, his voice rough and quiet. 

“So much for being a stupid kid, huh?” Stiles reluctantly let his hips go and pulled him back down into the seat with him. “I appreciate the sentiment though.” Stiles kissed his mouth and neck. 

“I don’t want to be that guy who asks you to lose your virginity in the back seat of his car.” 

“That would be hot as hell,” Stiles laughed breathlessly, rolling his forehead against Derek's chest before he looked back up at him. 

“Maybe, but it could be better.” Derek didn’t sound entire confident in his conviction anymore though. 

“Are you a hopeless romantic? Did I just imprint myself sexually on a wine and roses sorta guy?” Stiles smiled, trying not to laugh outright. 

Derek’s fingers tightened in his hair and pulled his head back slightly. “I think far bigger than that, and I mean it.” 

Derek’s words sounded like a threat, but Stiles liked them. He wanted to listen to more words like that, but it would mean not kissing Derek, and that wasn’t an option, not anytime soon at least.


	11. Icy Blue Eyes

“You have to,” Derek said resolutely. 

Arguing with Laura was like arguing with a tree stump. She sat at Chris’s desk with her feet up. She started out the conversation looking relaxed and reasonable, but she slowly sunk into herself, refusing everything Derek tried to talk her into. 

“I am the expert. I know what you have to do,” Derek stated firmly. 

“I was there too, and it didn’t work when I tried it with you,” Laura said, for the tenth time at least, proving how much of a fan she was of circular arguments. She and Erica had a few things in common, unfortunately open mindedness wasn't one of them. 

“Jesus Christ Laura, I know it fucking sucked and I was a huge asshole, but she wants to change!” Derek finally broke. Stiles had to give him credit, Derek held on for a lot longer than he would have. “If you don’t do this Laura, she could be stuck like this for a very long time,” Derek warned. 

“You keep saying that, but what you don’t seem to remember Derek, was how much it hurt us both.” Laura dragged her feet off the desk and sat up, her feet firmly planted on the floor. 

“I remember, but that’s because I fought you,” Derek said quietly, running out of willpower to fight her, quickly. 

“Erica doesn’t want to defy you, Laura. She’s out there with Boyd right now probably wishing she could turn back, but she doesn't know how. What you’re saying is selfish and fucked up. You’re not even going to try because it might hurt you?” Stiles had listened to them work through their own shit at the expense of Erica for long enough. He was done.. “You guys can keep bickering, I’m going to go see if I can get Erica to change. I did it before, maybe I can do it again.” Stiles didn't think he really could. Erica wasn't Derek. She didn't have faith in her abilities and family history on her side proving she could do it. 

Slamming the door behind him, Stiles fixated on the silence that followed him as he made his way out to the bays. Erica and Boyd were laying in the middle of the access road lazily, in front of Sunny’s bay. The other wolves were getting used to Erica being around, and Erica seemed to be fascinated by them. She was watching them, her head on her paws, while Boyd stretched out on his back with his hands tucked behind his head. 

“It’s weird that she doesn't talk back,” Boyd said as Stiles sat down next to Erica. “It’s like, when I can't see her, it seems like she’s here and I can talk to her. Then I look up and she’s still a wolf.” 

“I know,” Stiles said, watching Erica stand and shake herself off. 

Arctic wolves were slightly smaller than Grey wolves. Erica seemed to be smaller than Sage, but it was hard to remember exactly, even though it wasn’t very long ago he had been unknowingly in Boyd’s position. Erica walked over to him with an awkward, stunted gait, like she was in pain. He reached out for her face, running his hands over her ears. Black veins traveled over his hands and arms. He was used to it now. Erica’s pain felt familiar in a way he decided he didn’t like, especially now. It felt wildly unfair. They had found her, fixed her. They should be done with this, but the confusion still had her trapped in its tight grip. Hoping for some kind of clue, Stiles closed his eyes, envisioning the flow of energy inside her. 

Nerves clustered against her skin, pushing the limits of her current form. Her body wanted to change back to human. Erica wanted to change, but she didn’t remember how to go back. Maybe she was too different now, like she wasn't stepping back into her old self because that self was gone. She didn't know what her new self was like, so she couldn't pull it up in her mind. To Stiles it was like tying a rope, then uncoiling it slowly when he wanted to go back, but he couldn't change into a wolf. When he shifted he was still mostly himself. Stiles wasn't sure how being a wolf felt. As he drained the stress and pain from her body, she stumbled forward, falling into his lap with a small noise that was halfway between a whine and a sigh. It was cute. Boyd chuckled. His face dropped when he looked up at Stiles and saw the pain traveling across his skin. 

“She’s not okay, is she?” Boyd asked, already knowing the answer. 

Stiles shook his head and turned Erica in his lap, making her comfortable. She was too big to lay in his lap, but he made it work, holding her close to his chest. Her head fell against him like she was tired. He wondered if she had any sleep, or if the change had been pressing against her since he tore out the implant. What he said to Derek and Laura before, he was trying to motivate them because none of the encouragement he had given either of them had worked. Neither of them responded to positivity. Stiles couldn't fix this, but he had to try. He was the only one who had inspired change of all of them, even Laura. Maybe he could say something, or make her feel something would make sense to her and make her change back. Either way, it would be easier for her if he stayed and managed her pain. 

“Derek says he has to hold back his wolf, that it has always wanted to break loose and be in control. For him, changing is like pulling it back and holding in a small space in his mind. He has to push it back, from his fingertips in, like rolling up sleeves or a carpet,” he explained to Erica, not even sure if she was listening. “For me though, it pretty much leaves me alone until it's called. Sometimes I think it’s more excited, like it sees an opportunity and wants to be let out, but it waits for my permission. I let it go and it takes over my whole body, filling in all the cracks and spaces with something bigger than me. I think it's the same for both of us though because it's about what we want, and the willpower to control it. You have to want it, and concentrate on it." 

Erica shifted in his arms until she was facing him, her head laid out long over his arm. She looked up at him with clear, gorgeous blue eyes. It didn’t make sense because her eyes were light brown, like his. Derek’s eyes had been the same when he was a wolf, but Erica’s were different. He wasn't sure if that meant something. Unwilling to go inside and ask someone who probably didn't have answers anyways, Stiles kept talking. 

“You could try both, if you can. Maybe with the pain gone it'll be easier?" Stiles pulled her up against him, thankful he was so strong now. Thankful he could hold her this way without trembling or faltering. "Boyd, do you know how to do this yet?" he asked. 

Boyd shook his head, watching Stiles closely. 

"Put your hand on mine," Stiles instructed. 

Boyd reached out and touched his hand, the black veins cut a path straight to Boyd as soon as he made contact. To Boyd's credit he didn't look surprised or shocked by the discomfort, he looked more pleased it was working than anything else. When the lines over his skin vanished and failed, Stiles could tell Boyd thought there was something wrong with him. 

"It's gone, that's all. There will be more when she feels it again. I hope it takes a while," Stiles explained. 

"It makes you feel kinda sick," Boyd said, flexing his hand as he rubbed the skin to work out the ache. 

"Derek can teach you how to deal with it." 

Slowly, Boyd climbed to his feet. He went to the main building without much resistance beyond a long, thoughtful look back at Erica. He probably needed a break and trusted Stiles to fill in for him well enough. Erica curled against him, her eyes drooping like she was about to fall asleep, Stiles hated pushing her further, but they were running out of time. The pull of the moon wasn't even that strong this time, but it was making everyone angry, stubborn, and emotional. The later it got, the closer the moon was, the worse it would be for all of them. It might be his last chance to talk to her while they both had clear enough minds. He had to tell the truth, all of it, or he would hate himself for not giving it everything he had. 

Stiles hoped she would stay awake and listen if he looked her in the eye, demanded her attention, even though all he wanted was to hide his face away in case he couldn’t handle what he was about to say. "You're younger than my mom was when she died. You're about the same age as she was when she started to get confused though. Did you know she left me alone at the park one time? I wasn't scared to be alone because she taught me how to recognize people you could trust, and which you couldn't. She taught me if I looked scared when I was alone, the kind of people who wanted to hurt little kids would notice me.” 

Erica closed her eyes. He wasn’t sure if she was sleeping, or tuning him out, or just liked the sound of his voice. He wasn’t sure if she was listening at all, but he had to keep trying. 

“I wasn't afraid when I realized she wasn't there. I was so little, I thought it was a game. When I figured out it wasn't, I was afraid for her, not for me because she had been acting strange before that. I got really used to that feeling over the next couple years. She was gone long before she died, but I kept thinking, maybe she’ll get better. I didn’t actually believe she would never get better until the very end.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, holding himself together as he figured out the rest of what he needed to say.

The brutal truth of it, not the flowery, wordy exclamations of love Boyd had been hammering Erica with, but the absolute, real truth. It wasn’t a pretty truth, maybe it was nice in a way, but Stiles had never been very good at writing love poems. 

"I've gotten used to having you here. Everytime I feel like a stupid, shit-head teenager, I actually think about calling you, it’s like a reflex. But I can't now, and I hate that. I'm a grown man and I think I'm more scared of losing you for me than I am for you. I know you were prepared to die. I know it because I know you, but you aren't ready. I know what bad looks like, and this isn’t it. You don’t have to die, and you won't if you come back. Laura can't be like a mom. She'll trick me into thinking she is, and I'll do really stupid things for her. We already know she’s kind of bad at this, but you aren’t. I need you, we all need you so much. I don't think we can survive any of this without you." 

Words poured out of him too fast. Stiles wasn’t scared or crying like he thought he might. He wanted to shake her, demand she open her eyes and acknowledge what he had said, but he wasn’t sure if she could anymore. He folded himself over and held her tight, the dusty, clean scent of her fur all wrong for a wolf. It was more like the scent of Erica that lingered around her desk and chair, and that was worse. 

“I miss you. I miss you so much.” 

She went limp in his arms. As she relaxed her head rolled back. The timing was so bad he thought for sure she was dead, but her heart beat slow and steady under his searching fingertips. Allowing himself feel the loss of her would be impossible because it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. He would spend the rest of his life waiting for her to walk into the room one day, all wicked smiles and bright red lips. He would daydream about being able to let her go, talking himself through it exactly like he was now, but never really doing it. It was unfair that he was only just realizing how much he loved Erica. 

Maybe a lot of it was some kind of projection because he was the poor kid with the dead mom, but it didn't make him love her any less. She was willing to live up to it. She was there when he needed her. At least he understood how much he needed his mom before she died. There was no great revelation in losing his mom, it was just horrible and sad. He was glad when she didn’t have to suffer anymore. In so many ways this was worse. He understood the finality of it this time, and how little that would mean to him in the end if he never really accepted she was gone. 

The ugly, wet sound of snapping and cracking forced him to open his eyes. The fleshy, pink ear he looked down on made him surge with hope and excitement until long, dark claws sunk deep into his back. The pain was awful, like when Laura had hurt him, but worse because he could get away but he didn’t want to let Erica go. Horrible noise ripped out of her as she changed, dragging the long, deadly claws away from the soft flesh of his side. She rolled out of his arms, twisting and changing uncontrollably. He backed away from her as she gasped in pain, the wolves howling and barking in frenzied excitement so loud it almost drown her out. 

Voices and faces surrounded them, creating a wall of chaos between the two of them. He pushed against Derek, forcing his way to Boyd’s side. Erica looked up at him from the ground, her eyes all wrong still, but the rest of her was human. Boyd picked her up of the ground then took off his shirt and pulled it over her head. She hugged and kissed Boyd gratefully before pushing past him. Her unnerving, light blue eyes were fixed on him angrily. She grabbed his shoulder and turned him around roughly. The claw marks she left behind had already begun to heal, but she scowled at them anyways. 

“You are so dumb. Why didn't you let me go? I could have killed you!” Erica snapped. 

Being hugged by Erica used to be an event. She wasn't the type of person to hand hugs out to people, even ones she liked. This hug though was like being caught in a bear trap. Erica didn't feel the same under his hands. She used to be thin, almost willowy, but now she felt like Laura. All hard, unforgiving muscles and dense flesh that moved deliberately, like she knew how far she could push it before she was literally choking the life out of him. 

“You’re welcome,” Stiles breathed out dramatically. 

Letting him go, she pushed him playfully and grinned, her eyes still wild and icy blue. He debated saying something, but she would either notice, or they would change back on their own. There was no point in alarming her or subjecting her to inspection again. Laura pushed through everyone, holding her hand out toward Erica. They all took a step back as Erica turned to Laura and grabbed her hand. 

“You and I are going to talk later about making children do your job for you.” Erica pushed Laura’s hand away and reached out for Boyd. 

They walked together to the main building, and no one followed them. Laura turned and ran toward the annex before anyone had a chance to say anything else to her. Chris and Allison made a quick escape, walking toward the garage to start setting up the next meal most likely. Only he and Derek were left, but they had the wolves. They paced the fence, still full of anxiety and excitement from Erica’s sudden change and all of the fresh, violent blood. 

“We should calm them down,” Stiles said, not sure what else to do. 

“We need to make sure Boyd and Erica are okay tonight,” Derek said, looking toward the door they vanished through. 

“That’s tonight. Let’s worry about that then,” Stiles said. 

“You already have a plan don't you?” Derek asked, looking back at him for confirmation. 

“Not a whole one. They’ll be fine. They take pretty good care of each other, don’t you think?” Stiles asked. 

"It won't matter if they're out of their minds because of the moon," Derek pointed out. 

"Let's give them a couple hours at least? They can handle that on their own," Stiles asked. 

Derek relented and moved toward him, lifting his shirt to look at the puncture wounds on his back. “You’re not going in there, not like this.” 

“They’re healing,” Stiles argued. 

“Not like they should be... and that doesn’t make sense. You should be healing a lot faster because of the full moon,” Derek said, running his fingers over the still open wounds. 

“That fuckin hurts1” Stiles cursed, pulling away from Derek. 

“They’re burning hot,” Derek said. 

“Blood flow, makes it feel hot, just--don’t touch it, jesus,” Stiles warned, holding up his hand as Derek’s reached out again.

Derek grabbed his shoulder roughly and held him still as he pressed his fingers against the flesh right outside the wound. Stiles understood he had to tolerate this for a reason, but he wished Derek would tell him why instead of just making him do it. The deep ache turned into a stabbing pain and Stiles flinched, just stopping himself from pulling away again. He refused to get hysterical over a little poking and prodding right after he insisted it would be fine. Derek didn’t look annoyed or scowly, letting his eyebrows do most of the talking. Instead he was wide eyed and concerned. 

“What is it?” Stiles asked, turning to look at the wounds as best he could. A deep, stabbing ache crawled up his back as he twisted to see better, the heat from the pain radiated like a sunburn on his skin. 

“Stop, stop moving,” Derek said, holding him steady. 

Dragging his fingers painfully over the wound, Stiles hissed in anger. Derek’s fingers came away smeared with black, not red. Stiles stared at it, sure of what it was, but unsure how it happened. 

“Maybe it was me, all the pain I took-- “ he stammered, hoping Derek would agree. 

“No. It doesn't work like that,” Derek said, pulling on his arm, moving him before he was ready to go anywhere. 

He needed a moment to think, for all of this to stop coming at him. The moment he got one problem solved, another dragged itself out of the ashes like some kind of karmic Phoenix. He struggled against Derek’s grip, clutching his hand and demanding he stop. 

“What?” Derek snapped at him, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. 

He was afraid. The kind of fear Stiles hadn’t been able to see before, but now he could hear it. The quiet, fluttering sound of palpitations made Derek’s eyes go wide as the discomfort hit his chest. Derek pulled on his arm and Stiles followed silently, unwilling to push Derek any further. 

The annex was quiet, but Stiles could feel Laura close by. As soon as he felt her presence her head poked out from behind the giant file cabinet. She had snuck herself into the corner, under the high shelf that held notebooks full of vaccination records. Stiles remembered, there used to be a box there. Small, wooden ancient looking thing with handle on the top like a cupboard door handle. It was small. He was amazed she fit in the space it left behind. 

“What kind of wolfsbane did mom use when she healed people she hurt?” Derek asked. Pushing Stiles down on the table, Derek waited until he was flat on his stomach to turn to Laura, waiting for an answer. 

“Arctic Blue, I think, why?” Laura said with very little conviction. 

“Where is it?” Derek pointed to the space next to the file cabinet. 

“Under the sink. I moved it because it was irritating, then the space it left behind was the only place that didn’t smell like him, so I --” 

“Laura, tell me after. Go get it,” Derek said urgently, but with a kind edge to his voice. Laura moved toward the sink and Derek lifted his face gently. “Are you feeling okay?” 

“I’m fine besides the sunburn feel. It’s achy, not bad. I would really like to know what’s going on though,” Stiles said. 

“I’m not quite sure, but we’ll know if my hunch is right in a second,” Derek said, looking up as Laura handed him a jar of powder. 

“Can you tell me before you do whatever you’re going to do?” Stiles asked. 

“Can you just trust me?” Derek dropped the jar on the table next to Stiles like he was frustrated, but he shook it off and kept moving like Stiles hadn't said a word. 

Burning, tingling pain shot through him as Derek pushed a bit of the power into one of the claw wounds. He kept himself still, but his muscles began to shake from the pain and the strain of keeping himself immobile. Small, powerful hands pressed into his lower back and he relaxed. He didn’t have a choice anymore but to stay still. It made it easier, but not any better when the second wave of pain burst through him. 

“Are you killing me right now? The last time I had wolfsbane in a wound I almost died without knowing it,” Stiles asked, trying not to let the pain break his voice much. 

“It’s already healing. You’re going to be okay,” Laura said. 

Her words were soothing somehow, leaving him calm and relaxed like his sleeping pills used to. The sound of a chair moving on the floor and feet shuffling around him kept him awake. He wasn’t tired, but he felt worn out now. Laura pushed something up under his head and chest, replacing his hand and arm as a barrier between his face and the cold steel table top. He let the dull ache in his back fade like a bad memory. Laura’s hands brushed his hair and forehead. Her cheek rested on the top of his head for a moment as her hand ran down his neck and across his shoulders. 

“You’ll be okay. Try to rest and you’ll feel good as new in a little while. I promise.” Laura’s voice was permission to drift off and vanish for a while. 

When he woke up it felt like it had been a long time, but Derek and Laura were still in the same places they were when he fell asleep. He didn't open his eyes because he hoped he would fall asleep again, but the conversation dragged him in, made him pay attention. 

“He doesn’t have to trust me. He knows everyone better than we ever will, he figures everything out before we do. We think we have a fucking clue and he’s ten moves ahead of us. He doesn’t have to trust anyone if he doesn’t want to, but he trusts you,” Derek argued. 

“He does not trust me and and you know it,” Laura whispered. “He trusts you, and Erica.” 

“And look what she did to him?” Derek said, not whispering. 

“You know that was an accident,” Laura argued. 

“But it’s the truth. We all make mistakes, why do you keep acting like the rules are different for you? Like every mistake means you're somehow unfit?” Derek asked insistently. 

“Because I am unfit Derek. The only reason I became the alpha was because Peter almost died. It passed to me by default. I didn't earn it.” Laura said the words like they didn't hurt her anymore, but they used to. 

“You don't know that. The last couple years, after mom took those memories away from him? He wasn’t himself anymore. He stopped practicing,” Derek said the last part like it was some kind of profound truth. 

“Just because Peter chose to move on from Buddhism, doesn't mean he was unfit to be alpha. None of us were Buddhist but him,” Laura said, but Stiles could hear the lie in her voice, how her heart skipped over the trepidation and nervousness she felt when she said it. 

“The only way Erica could have gotten any of that energy was if you gave it to her willingly,” Derek said quietly, like he was afraid to actually say the words out loud. 

“I thought she was hurt. I could feel she was hurt, and I thought I could heal her,” Laura admitted. 

“You thought you could heal her that way in the middle of a transformation? That’s how she turned into a wolf to begin with. Did you plan on leaving us without an alpha, or were you hoping it would somehow magically transfer to her?” Derek asked bitterly. 

“Magically? Yes, Derek, I counted on some kind of magic. You’ve been hanging around humans too long if you’re saying that like it’s a dirty word.” 

Laura laughed, a short, quiet, bitter laugh, and ran a hand over his neck lightly. He opened his eyes but kept them fixed on the thing he was laying on. It was Laura’s leather jacket. It smelled like her, like a river on a hot day and running too fast through the desert. And ashes. She always smelled like ashes. 

“I know how great of an alpha you will be when you choose to, but you have to stop thinking in such desperate terms. Why do you keep on making decisions like you’re going to be dead tomorrow?” Derek asked, sounding tired and desperate himself. 

“I’m not mom,” Laura said, like that was some kind of final word. 

“Look at what mom did to Peter, and how she never saw Kate coming.” 

“There was no way she could have known either of those things, she--” Laura jumped to defend her mother viciously, her tone aggressive and angry. She stopped suddenly and Stiles looked up. Her hand hung in the air where it had been running through his hair absently. Laura wasn’t looking at him though, she was looking at Derek like she hated to admit he was right. “You made your point,” she said, sounding as bitter as he would be in her position. 

“You’ve had a lot of time Laura. You’re different than you used to be,” Derek said, “for the better.” 

“So are you,” Laura said too quickly, instead of a thank you. She looked up at him and smiled softly, like she was happy to see him. “Are you feeling better?” she asked. 

Nodding was all Stiles could force himself to do. He didn’t feel like an over glorified pin-cushion anymore, but he wanted to sleep for days. The pull of the moon wouldn’t let him though. He could feel it on top of everything, twisting in his chest and making the spot in his neck buzz like his wolf wanted to get out and run free. He wanted the moment back where nothing was his responsibility and he was allowed to forget about all of it. 

The table shook under him and Laura’s bare feet walked past his face along the table top. He looked up at her, shifting and covering his eyes at the brightness of the fluorescent lights above him. She dropped herself down gracefully, more graceful than he would ever be able to pull off. He lifted his arm as she tucked herself against him and wrapped her arm around his chest. 

“Go away Derek,” she demanded quietly. 

Stiles let his arm drop around her shoulders, still surprised by how small she actually was. She was so much larger and imposing in his head. It felt foreign and uncomfortable to hold her, but he wasn't sure what he could do about it. Maybe he was willing to suffer the awkwardness if she could make him feel better again. 

The lights dropped to only one row of annoying flickering and the door shut. Suddenly it was like he was playing the trapped in the closet game they used to play at birthday parties, with someone who actually terrified him. Granted, that was most people, but he always agreed to play hoping that once he got in the closet the other person would do or say something to make all the terror worthwhile. They never did, and he was left feeling like trying to connect with someone was just going to make everything worse than not trying at all. 

“My mom never did this for us. I remember her comforting one of her betas right before he died. He looked so peaceful and happy, like she was giving him some sort of gift. But all I could think of was why couldn’t she give him that kind of love when he was alive? Then it might have helped him be more strong for all of us,” Laura said. “I don’t want you to finally know I love you as you’re dying for me.” 

As much power as she had over him, he didn’t think he would die for her, but he couldn’t tell her that, not like this. She might not have any clue what she was doing, but she was trying. He didn’t like being the guinea pig, but he was the first. He stopped and made himself consider how that changed things. She didn’t bite him the way she bit Erica and Boyd. The change was a more certain that way. He wondered if she hoped it wouldn't work. Then, as he considered the possibilities, what he knew about Laura now, he was sure of it. He imagined she struggled with the choice and decided to leave it to chance. When Stiles was half dead under her hands, she panicked and flooded him with power. That’s why he was different, why he survived the wolfsbane that should have killed him. He was just like Erica in a way. 

“Why did you change me? Stiles asked, relaxing a little. 

“He came back for you, not for me. I wanted you to be mine so he couldn’t throw me away again,” Laura said, far too honestly. It was the same kind of honesty Derek had when he first came back and didn’t think he needed to censor himself. “It was selfish and cruel the way I did it. I should have asked,” she admitted. 

“I would have said yes,” Stiles assured her. He wasn’t entirely sure he would have right away, but the draw of it would have been too much temptation and relief to pass up. 

Laura smiled softly and let out a little sigh. She was just as nervous and uncomfortable as he was. 

Empathy had easily been his biggest gift and his biggest problem for his entire life. But he had learned to trust it enough to be sure of himself as he pulled her close and tucked her head under his chin. She had pissed him off, fucked him up, used him, and gambled with his life, but he could forgive it all because he might have done the same thing in her impossible position. 

Being impulsive and emotional had pushed him to do a lot of stupid things. It also led him to contemplate doing things he never thought himself capable of, and he still went to bed at night thinking he was ultimately a decent person. Laura lost everyone, except Derek, and then Derek left her, forcibly, bitterly. He left her desperate and blaming herself for everything that went wrong. It was too much for anyone to come out of unscarred, but she was hanging on. She was trying to be something, but she didn't have any clear direction. 

“You want to stay with us. You don't want to go to San Francisco. You picked out that loft for Derek, and you picked out the car, you even picked me, hoping he would set up here and stay. If you leave it’s just because you’re scared he will, so you want to do it first to save yourself the heartache.” He might have gone too far saying those things to her, but--much like the Hales seemed to do--he figured he didn't have much to lose in trying. 

“He doesn’t want me to stay,” Laura said, sounding small and young. 

“It sure as fuck sounded like he wanted you to stay, and be a good alpha, and stop living like you might die tomorrow,” Stiles pointed out, far too sarcastically. She still scared him, and he was being stupid. The small, young, cute thing was all a lie. 

“Do you ever stop being an asshole? We were having a moment,” Laura said, shifting away from him and his sarcastic, dramatic sentiments. 

He held her tight and laughed quietly, not letting it slide. “That was a moment of stupidity, this one’s better,” he promised, relaxing as she fell back against his chest. “In this moment you get to be kind of happy and feel a little stupid as you realize how much your brother loves you, and how many chances we’re willing to give you. We aren’t kids. We aren’t afraid of making a few mistakes.” 

“You’re a kid,” She insisted, but she wasn't being mean, only pointing out how barely legal he was. 

“Maybe to you. You grew up different than I did. You were legitimately overprotected, for good reasons. Your family was huge, and powerful. I’m sure no matter how much responsibility you had, you still got to forget about it at the end of the day. By the time I was thirteen I had to go to bed alone half the time. Unsure if my dad was coming home, or if that was the night some redneck with too many beers under his belt decided putting my dad down would be preferable to going to jail for the fifth time.” 

Bitter anger surged in his chest. Too many things had been unfair back then, but he could have stayed with Scott, or had a babysitter. Instead, Stiles demanded more of himself. He felt like he had to be someone his dad could count on because it was just the two of them. Stiles wasn’t looking to vent though, he was looking to make her understand. 

“I had a good life, and a good dad, but I didn’t get to forget about the way the world actually was, ever. Derek lived the last few years like dropping out and forgetting was a viable life choice. That says a lot about how little he understood how the world works before you guys had to be on your own. I’m sure it was a rough crash landing, but you still haven't caught up to me, and you’ll never catch up to Erica, so you better get used to it,” Stiles warned her, unsure of how she was taking any of what he said, beyond not running away. 

“I’m not--we’re not good at a lot of things, but you guys expect us to be,” Laura said defensively. 

“Just because we ask, doesn’t mean we expect you to know. We have to ask. I have to. And just because we act like we want to control everything doesn't mean we want to either. People like Erica and I did everything for ourselves most of our lives. You can’t unlearn that. I freak out when Derek orders drinks for me, or offers to buy groceries,” Stiles laughed. 

“I didn’t know how to buy groceries," Laura blurted out awkwardly. 

"How did you eat?" 

"I lived off Sonic and pizza for weeks until I finally drove past a farmers market and stopped out of sheer curiosity. I still don’t know how to cook”

Chuckling at Laura’s hopeless confession, Stiles hugged her tight again. It was such a small, insignificant thing, but it was a human thing. She had proven she wasn’t very good at connecting with human things. Like how he held her as they were talking. She put herself in this position purposefully, with the right intentions, but she was stiff and closed off now. She wanted to comfort him, but he needed more than kind words and sentiment. She was trying, and being honest, but all the love and caring was hidden away now. Love was what she led with, it was her reason for doing all of it, but she wielded it like a sledgehammer and expected them to hate her for it. 

He and Erica would never be afraid of how unrestrained and brutal her love was. Boyd would probably never notice, or need it, considering who he was madly in love with. Laura would learn that, eventually. She and Derek could work out their clash of temperament on their own. 

“If you stay I’ll teach you how to cook. I can do things with microwave pasta you won’t believe,” Stiles offered. 

Laura didn’t say anything, so he gave up on the lighthearted banter and concentrated on how much he wanted her to feel better, like she belonged there. He tipped his head down and breathed in the warm, summer scent that almost hid the ashes that clung to her from visiting the Hale house. Stiles held her tighter than he would a human, but she was relaxed and comfortable now, like he was finally doing it right.

“I don’t know how I fit in here. I don’t know if I can stay,” Laura said, her voice muffled against his chest. 

“Do you have to be the leader all the time? Can you just be Laura?” Stiles asked. 

“Who else would I be?” Laura asked. 

“Well, so far there’s the Laura who seems to have built herself a mom, a dad and a couple of brothers that all really want to like her. Then there's the Laura who's a stubborn, selfish, impulsive dick that makes liking the other one pretty fucking impossible,” Stiles pointed out. “Can you do more of the first Laura and lay off the other a little?" 

Laura didn’t answer outright, but the warm, calming sensation of her approval seeped through him as she smiled and laughed quietly. Is was almost a giggle, like she felt a little embarrassed. It was a sentiment Stiles was highly familiar with. 

“I used to be pretty good at being a sister,” Laura said, the smile still firmly set in place. 

“I always wanted one, but I wanted a little sister. I imagined being the big guy at the princess tea parties, maybe scaring off boyfriends when she got older," Stiles admitted. 

“Who the hell is ever going to come near me with all you oversized neanderthals around?” she joked, punching his chest lightly. 

“I am not large. I just look that way from all the way down there,” Stiles took the irresistible jab at her stunted height. 

“Dick,” she hissed.

“The tiniest alpha,” Stiles crooned, already laughing at his own joke. 

“Ugh,” Laura breathed out, expressing complete revulsion at his sense of humor. It was far more satisfying than any reaction he had gotten so far. “You never stop being an asshole do you? Like, never.” 

“No, I don't. I could lie, but you’d know.” Stiles laughed.


	12. The Tiniest Alpha

Night was falling, but the moon wasn't going to show itself for another couple hours. It would only be in full view for just under two hours before it disappeared for the night. The pull of this moon wasn't that strong, which wasn't the only bit of luck they’d had, but it still felt like the universe showing a little mercy. 

“Someone just pulled up,” Laura said, getting up to look out the front window. 

“Erica?” Stiles asked, climbing to his feet from the floor next to the front desk. 

“No, a red head and a jock in a Porsche. Derek, didn't Chris say he was going to feed the news the warning to stay away till tomorrow at the earliest?” Laura asked. 

“Yeah,” Derek said, picking up Stiles’ laptop off the floor as he moved toward the window. 

Lydia Martin and Jackson Whittemore were getting out of his Porsche right in front of the building. They were too interested in what they were saying to each other to notice the three people staring at them from the other side of the window. 

“He’s a wolf,” Laura said, surprised. 

“And a Hale,” Derek said, too quietly.

“A Hale?” Laura said, turning to Derek, staring at him like she was sure she heard wrong. 

“Peter’s son.” 

“How is that--are you sure?” Laura asked, stepping closer to Derek, through Stiles, as she struggled to understand the news. 

Being stuck between them was a very bad idea. He was about to step back and let them duke it out when Jackson burst into tears. Stiles stood up straight, suddenly filled with surprise and alarm. The painful, wrecked sobs pouring out of Jackson made the entire scenario feel like some kind of nightmare. He nudged Laura’s shoulder and pointed out the window as Lydia rushed around the car and pulled Jackson down into a protective hug. It was like nothing had changed between them. Jackson moved and Lydia followed. It explained why he hadn't heard from her in a while. 

“This is obviously something to do with you guys. I shouldn’t be here when he comes in,” Stiles said, taking a step back from the window. 

“No, stay,” Derek said, not taking his eyes off Jackson. 

Stiles stopped but no explanation came. He wasn’t sure if he should just duck out and ignore Derek, but Laura turned and shook her head as well. 

“You know him?” she asked. 

“Let’s just say if someone asked Jackson how he dealt with stress in high school he would say Stiles Stilinski, but I was not his friend,” Stiles explained, trying to be diplomatic and honest, but it just came out too cryptic for Laura to understand. 

Laura scowled at his explanation unhappily. “Did he bully you?” she asked, grasping close to the implication. 

“Yeah,” Stiles answered, but Laura kept scowling, impatience growing by the second. “Honestly, he kicked the shit out of me everyday for over six years, so I really should go,” Stiles insisted. 

“No, you’re staying,” Derek repeated. 

“He’s upset and I’m the last person who's going to help this situation.” Stiles turned to walk away but Laura caught him, grabbing him with both hands. 

“For one, I can't fucking believe that’s how you’re reacting to someone who treated you that badly, today of all days.” Laura pointed out the window at Jackson and Lydia. The action grabbed Lydia’s attention. “Also, I need you here, where I can see you. Shut-up and go sit down.” She pointed to Chris’s desk and turned back to the window. 

Waiting until Jackson and Lydia started walking toward the front doors, hoping until the last second they would change their minds, Stiles made his way to the desk and sat down obediently. Stiles decided to trust her and see how it all played out. He tried to make himself small and quiet against the gigantic spider plant in the corner, but he was too big to hide now, unless he was willing to fold himself up under the desk. 

“Derek?” Lydia’s voice came from around the corner. Two more feet and she would see him, and so would Jackson, and the whole room would probably go awkwardly silent before all hell broke loose. Stiles braced himself as Derek introduced himself and Laura. He folded himself over and rubbed his face with his hands in an attempt to distract himself. 

“Stiles?” Jackson asked from the entryway. 

Stiles looked up. Jackson took a step toward him and leaned against the low retaining wall, eyeing Stiles curiously. Stiles had rarely seen an expression on Jackson that wasn’t open aggression or disdain. His nose and eyes were red and he looked worn out and sad. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Stiles asked, trying his best not to sound weirded out. 

“Why are you here?” Jackson asked with an oddly hopeful edge to his voice. 

“I’m--uh--I’m with them.” Stiles pointed at Laura and Derek who were watching the reunion closely, along with Lydia. 

“You know them?” Jackson asked hopefully. 

“I do, yes, pretty well. Why are you here?” Stiles asked. 

“I’m not--Lydia--” Jackson turned to Lydia, suddenly broken and lost again. 

Stiles wasn’t prepared for Jackson to be frantic like a lost puppy. He wasn’t afraid of Jackson anymore, he hadn't been for a long time, but he still hated him. He hadn't thought about Jackson much though, not since Derek came along and dropped the truth in his lap. Being a werewolf didn't give him a free pass, but it did explain the aggression, and inability to back the fuck off. It was easy to figure out that Jackson had manifested alone, with no idea what he was. He still managed to keep his shit together with no one to help him, except maybe Lydia. After the last few days Stiles could honestly say Jackson had earned a little respect as far as Stiles was concerned. Not much, but enough to make talking to him civilly a possibility. 

“Stiles,” Lydia smiled like she was relieved. Her reaction was oddly delayed, like she just let herself believe he was really there. She came around the low partition wall. He stood to hug her when she held her arms up like she was thankful he was here. She pulled back and motioned to Jackson. “He’s been having a hard time, weird dreams and feeling restless. He said it had something to do with this place when we saw it on the news. I didn't know what else to do. He was practically crawling out of his skin,” she explained.

“Are you one too?” Jackson asked, eyeing him skeptically even though he looked like he was on the brink of tears again. 

“Yes,” Stiles answered, not sure what else to say. 

“Then it’s just him Lydia, that’s all,” Jackson said insistently. 

“Wait, Jackson....” Laura held up her hands as Jackson moved toward the door. 

Jackson stopped dead in his tracks, eyes fixed on Laura’s hands cautiously. “You are too,” he said, his eyes wide. 

“We all are, and he’s only a small part of the reason you came here.” Derek stepped forward, speaking up before Jackson could talk himself into saying or doing anything else. Lydia moved toward him, clutching his arm over the wall. “She is the reason you came. Her and the pack she just made,” Derek explained. 

“Pack... there’s more of you?” Jackson asked. 

“Jackson, you need to let them explain. Look at them, really look at them. They’re nice, they want to tell you what’s going on. Please,” Lydia asked. 

“C’mon Jackson, you know I don't hang out with douchebags. I’ll get you a soda and we can chill out in the staff room, okay?” Stiles said, breaking through the mounting tension with a loud, passive aggressive jab. 

Lydia gave him angry side eye, but dropped it when Jackson visibly relaxed and flashed him a weak half smile. 

Walking toward the staff room, Stiles turned and waited at the door for Jackson. He made his way around the partition carefully, clinging to Lydia in a strange way, like Jackson thought she could protect him. Lydia was formidable and even as a werewolf Stiles wouldn't want to go toe to toe with her. She would probably take out his eyes with her long acrylic nails before he could even get a hit in. It almost disturbed him how much he liked the idea. 

Jackson stopped walking behind him abruptly. “Seriously Stilinski?” he growled, his voice not entirely human. 

Something in Stiles flipped like a light switch. He turned around, ready to tear Jackson to pieces just for speaking. The wolf that was always so quiet in the back of his mind was suddenly livid, snarling and begging for blood. 

“Stop,” Laura said, pushing past Lydia, putting herself between Jackson and Stiles. “Never again. She doesn't belong to either of you,” Laura said firmly. 

The words settled between them, taking all the heat out of Stiles’ rage. He wasn’t angry with Jackson because he thought Lydia was his, he was angry Jackson threatened him. Laura’s words were irrevocable law though, and Jackson threatened Stiles because he thought Lydia belonged to him. That meant the immediate problem was resolved, so Stiles stepped back. Jackson pulled back from Laura. wide eyed, like he was surprised the effect Laura’s words had. 

“Thank you,” Lydia said curtly, walking past them toward the door marked ‘Staff Only’. 

Stiles followed quickly behind her, not wanting to give Jackson a chance to bait him again. He sat on the far side of the room, in the corner behind the table. He assumed everyone would prefer to sit on the couches, but they filed in and sat around the table with him like it was some kind of summit meeting. Derek dropped a couple of sodas on the table and sat down next to Jackson, close enough that Stiles suspected he was making some kind of attempt to protect them from each other. 

“You don't know who your parent’s are,” Derek stated, talking to Jackson much the way he talked to Laura when he was negotiating. 

Stiles didn't like Derek's tone even though he didn't like Jackson much right now. It was too demanding, too matter of fact for news like Derek was about to drop. Unfortunately there wasn’t anything Stiles could do about it. Jackson wasted all his good will on a moment of aggression Stiles barely understood. He wasn’t about to stretch himself thin for Jackson’s sake, no matter how close he was about get to Stiles’ life, or maybe because of it. 

“No, do you know?” Jackson asked after a long moment, like he was contemplating if he wanted the answer or not. 

“My uncle Peter and a woman I don't know much about,” Derek answered. 

“The coma guy?” Jackson asked, an odd choked off sound breaking off his question. Lydia reached out for him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders protectively. 

“Yes, he was like you, and us,” Derek said. 

“If you knew about me why--” Jackson’s face crumbled and Stiles felt it deep in his gut. 

The question reflected years of wondering if he was rejected, lost, or if everyone he was connected to by blood was dead. Rejection was by far the worst case scenario, but Jackson didn’t understand the whole story yet. 

“Jackson,” Laura said, taping her hand on the table to get his attention. “I didn’t know about you, or I would have come for you,” she said, holding her hand out, across the table, just in case Jackson wanted to take it. 

Jackson didn’t take her hand, but he did pay attention. He heard her words and he reacted. Unfortunately the reaction was to stare at her and cry silently. He obviously wanted far more of an explanation but he couldn’t ask for it. 

“Derek was here the whole time. The wolf Sage, the one who they said died on the news? Believe it or not Derek changed all the way and was trapped as a wolf after the Hale fire and he couldn't tell anyone about you. He was the only one who knew,” Stiles blurted out, not willing to wait because Jackson needed to know. He was hurting and confused. 

Surprised by his own emotional response, Stiles crossed his arms and hunkered down in his chair. He was impulsive sometimes, but this felt strange, like Jackson’s feelings were pulling the truth out of him in a frantic, desperate way. Jackson knew about the Hale fire, they all did, and he knew about Derek coming back because that was on the news as well. They all waited as Jackson processed the information, stringing together the events and circumstances. He glanced up at Derek, then at Laura, his expression more curious than hurt now. 

“Because they died, you changed because they all died,” Jackson said. 

“It wasn't something I could accept at the time,” Derek answered. 

“Will I change like that someday?” Jackson asked. 

“Maybe,” Derek answered, still using his succinct, firm voice. 

“And you’re the one in charge?” Jackson asked Laura. 

“Alpha,” Laura answered. Jackson crinkled his eyebrows in confusion. “Alpha is what we call the leader,” she explained. 

“Packs, alpha, like real wolves?” Jackson said, gesturing like he was trying to understand. Laura nodded and Jackson crumbled again. “Oh my god, Lydia, my family is so fucked up,” Jackson said bitterly, finally losing it for real. 

The quiet, desperate sobs made all of them uncomfortable. Jackson had known he was a werewolf for a while, but his reaction made them all hyper aware of how insane it sounded. 

“Jackson,” Laura said quietly. He didn’t respond so Laura stood up and moved around the table. She motioned for Lydia to let Jackson go. Lydia looked to Stiles for confirmation that it was okay. He nodded and leaned forward, touching her shoulder in an attempt to reassure her everything would be alright. “Jackson,” Laura repeated.

When he still didn’t react she turned him around to face her. Laura wasn't working in half measures anymore. She demanded his attention, fixed her eyes on his and ran her hands over his cheeks, wiping the wetness away. “You belong with us. It doesn’t matter how we’re related. I’m your sister, and they’re your brothers now,” Laura said, meaning he and Derek. Stiles recoiled at the thought, but he had known all along he would have to reconcile with Jackson eventually. He just hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. He hoped Jackson would leave for college before Derek reached out to him or Laura found out. “I don’t care what kind of person you were before, or what you expected from us, you’re here now and we protect each other. Do you understand that?” she asked.

Giving Laura the barest nod, Jackson agreed. Lydia breathed a quiet sigh of relief like she had been holding her breath. Stiles ran his hand over her back, hoping to make her feel better, safer at least. Laura let Jackson go but made Derek move so she could hold Jackson’s hand. Derek moved to the seat next to Stiles, shifting his chair close so they could lean against each other easily. 

Taking a deep breath, Jackson took a tissue from Lydia and cleaned his face. He wiped his eyes and blew his nose like he had done it many times and wasn’t ashamed of it anymore. Laura ran a hand over his hair and down his neck, showing Jackson the kind of attention that would make him feel much better. It seemed to work right away. Jackson watched her with a kind of fascination Stiles never experienced. Jackson got all the good parts of Laura up front, which was probably far more important than anything else he could have gotten out of all the truth he had been handed all at once. 

“You said it was a new pack?” Jackson asked, glancing over at him. 

“Two others besides Stiles, they should be here any minute,” Laura said. 

“All three of them? Is this their first full moon?” Jackson looked concerned. 

“Yes, but tonight is a short, easy moon,” Laura pointed out. 

“I don’t know a lot, but that seems kind of dangerous. Unless you have a place to be locked up?” Jackson asked tentatively, proving how smart he really was. “Is there a reason? Is someone after you?” he asked, jumping to a rational conclusion, maybe a better one than the truth. 

“Nothing except death and stupidity,” Stiles volunteered before Laura or Derek could be honest with him. He didn’t want Laura to ruin the good impression she was leaving. Not quite yet. “We can explain it all later when we all don't feel like ripping our skin off,” Stiles suggested. 

“It’s not like that. You won’t want to hurt yourself, you’ll want to hurt someone else,” Jackson argued. 

“They won’t, we’re going to run,” Laura explained. 

“Oh, well--” Jackson looked around the table. “I guess you guys do own most of the forest out here. If you’re sure it’s empty...?” he asked cautiously.

“That’s what the stray warning was all about. No one should be out here, but if they were I would be able to sense them long before any of you could,” Laura assured him. 

“I’ll stay and help if you want me to. Three of them and three of us, right?” Jackson asked, a quick smile flashing across his lips as he grouped himself in with Laura and Derek, but he was right. 

Three who could control themselves with the moon, and three who couldn’t was far better than three against two. Laura and Derek discussed it quietly, Laura never letting go of Jackson’s hand. It was an easy answer, but they worried about Lydia and how Stiles felt about Jackson. Lydia surprised all of them by standing and hiking up the hem of her dress modestly. She didn’t expose much except a long, faded, jagged scar running down the side of her body from her ribs to her hip. They were claw marks, and from the look on Jackson’s face, he had made them. 

“I don't die easy, so don't worry about me.” Lydia smiled and dropped her dress, smoothing it out before she sat back down. “I helped him through the worst of it. This only happened because of complacency and carelessness, neither of which I have a problem with anymore.” 

The hardness in Lydia’s voice drove the fantasy he had of her badassery out of his mind. She had struggled with everything unfairly, coming out of it knowing how to handle herself, and from the look of it, almost dying in the process. 

“You didn’t have mono, did you?” Stiles asked, explaining why he had never been allowed to see her in the hospital and why Melissa was so hard lined about the confidentiality at the time. 

“No,” Lydia shook her head, “I almost died and it had some unexpected consequences,” she said, unaware that both he and Derek already knew what she was. 

“You’re a banshee,” Derek spoke up, using the same unwavering tone he did with Jackson. Stiles flinched, wanting to stop him, to protect Lydia from whatever Derek might say to her next, but Lydia sat forward in her seat like she was interested in what he had to say. 

“A banshee?” Lydia repeated, like she had never heard the word before. 

“You came through on a field trip once. I saw you and followed you until I figured out what you were,” Derek admitted, then glanced at the door like a noise startled him. Erica and Boyd were walking through the office.

“I guess that explains the screaming, and the dreams about people dying.” Lydia made a quiet huffing noise. Stiles recognized the sound she used to make when someone got the answer right before she did in school. 

Stiles stood up and went around Derek, heading off Boyd and Erica before they could come into the staff room. He wasn't sure if Erica was still as pissed as she had been when she agreed to come back earlier. Stiles had talked to her on the phone for all of thirty seconds when she said she would come in and hung up on him. She looked calm enough as he burst through the staff room door and shut it behind him, realizing too late that he looked like he was hiding something. Erica raised her eyebrow and waited for an explanation silently. 

Scents of mud and earth swirled around them, Stiles looked them over, Erica’s bare feet were caked with dirt and mud, Boyd was wearing shoes, but he was just as dirty. They were both wearing clothes for running. 

“Did you guys run over here?” Stiles asked. 

“Who is a banshee and why are they here?” Erica asked, ignoring his stupid question. 

“It’s Lydia Martin, and--promise me you won’t get angry?” Stiles asked, raising his hands. Erica stared him down, refusing to promise anything. As nice as it was to see her acting and looking very much like her old self, he wished she would give a little less stink eye. “It’s Jackson Whittemore, or Jackson Hale, I guess?” Stiles held his hands up to hold her back as Erica took a step toward the door behind him, visibly angry. 

“Your high school crush and the dick bag boyfreind who beat the shit out of you on a daily basis are in there? Right now?” Erica took a step back, throwing her hands up in frustration, then turning to Boyd like he would understand, but he had no idea about Stiles’ past. “This, can you fucking believe this?” Erica pointed to the door. Boyd scowled, but it was because Erica was upset, not because he understood the finer points. Erica turned back to him and crossed her arms defensively “Is this some kind of test to see how far she can push you before you flip out or something?” 

“We’re all equally suffering under the strain of convergence here, I swear,” Stiles said, but Erica continued to stare him down, not caring much about his big words. “This has nothing to do with me. He was a werewolf all the way back in highschool. Which, you know, kind of explains it, right? Now that I think about it...” Stiles took a deep breath, suddenly understanding a lot of things about how Jackson acted. “He could probably do the scenting thing, you know? Smell how much I liked Lydia. I was probably one a great big walking annoyance.” 

“What the fuck is wrong with you? I know. I listened to the stories you told. I was--” Erica tried to argue. 

“Truthfully,” Stiles held a hand up, interrupting her before she could remind him of all the bad things. “I spent a lot of time thinking about her to keep myself from being completely miserable after my mom died. When I say a lot, I mean like... all day. I probably seemed like a truly disgusting creeper from his point of view, you know?” 

Erica raised her eyebrow, but her eyes narrowed like she was actually considering his point. Stiles couldn’t believe he had just put all the pieces together. Under the duress of keeping Erica from finding another reason to hate Laura, and avoiding more strain in already tense pack relations, apparently he could unravel years of mystery in seconds. Erica shook her head, still not convinced. She raised her hands to push him aside and Stiles raised his to stop her. 

“I know you wanna go all mama bear on him, and maybe Laura too, but think about it. If he was a werewolf back then, why didn't he use his strength on me? He never hurt me like he could have. At the time I was scared to death of him, but I never went home with anything worse than a few bruises,” Stiles pointed out. 

Erica didn't say anything, she just scowled at him, then glanced over her shoulder at Boyd. Thankfully he nodded in agreement with Stiles. 

“He controlled himself, are you going to?” Stiles asked. 

Being compared to a bully after being tortured by enough of them didn't sit well with Erica. She immediately backed off, showing just how well she understood the parallel, even though her truly pissed off expression proved how much she didn’t appreciate the comparison.

“You gotta go a step further, for me, for all of us. He’s fucked up, and he just found out he has family Erica. He was an orphan, he got adopted, but he didn't know anything about Laura or Derek,” Stiles explained. 

Erica’s eyes went dark as the scowl faded from her face. She took a deep breath like she was letting go of her second hand vendetta. “What about the wolf thing?” Erica asked because she was invested in knowing more. 

“He was alone, he had Lydia, but he didn't know anything. He did it on his own.” 

“Seriously, they didn't know about him either? How are they even related?” Erica asked. 

“He’s their cousin. Everyone who knew died in the fire except Derek, and Derek wasn’t talking.” 

“God dammit if they don't know how to build an impressive mountain of shit,” Erica muttered, shaking her head in disappointment. “C’mon, move. I can feel all this garbage about to drive me crazy. We need to get outside or something before I start to get antsy again,” Erica said, her whole demeanor far more relaxed than it had been before. 

“We’re good,” Boyd nodded, assuring Stiles it would be okay. 

When he opened the door he immediately noticed the stony silence. Everyone was looking at him intently, even Lydia. He realized too late they had all heard the discussion, and he hadn't minced words for anyone. He talked to Erica like it was just the two of them, and Boyd who didn't really care beyond how Erica felt about it. He tried to think back, asking himself if he had been incredibly insulting to anyone except Jackson. He was sure Erica had said at least one choice thing, but none of them seemed angry, just fixated, especially Jackson. 

“Everyone, outside,” Laura barked out, making Stiles jump a little with the abruptness of the command. 

He got out of the way as they all filed past him, even Jackson. When Jackson turned and waited Stiles looked back into the room at Lydia. 

“I’m not an idiot Stiles, I’m staying in here,” she said as she folded her legs underneath her on the couch and picked up the television remote. 

“Good plan. You can have anything in the fridge. I’ll replace it,” Stiles offered, then rushed to follow the others. 

“Stiles, hey. Wait up,” Jackson called after him. 

Stiles wanted to be a good guy but he could already feel the pull of the moon making him irritated and a little frantic. He slowed down and glanced back at Jackson. Reluctantly giving him permission to speak. 

“I want you to know before we get out there, you were right about all that shit. I was just pissed you were so fixated on her, but I get it now. You had your chance with her and you never took it. You were just distracting yourself,” Jackson said, giving him another half smile, almost like he thought what he described was okay. 

Stiles stopped and moved into Jackson’s space, standing too close. “I’ll be the first one to admit I’ve done my fair share of objectifying Lydia Martin, but I cared about her. I saw what kind of a genius she was and I coveted having that kind of amazing in my life. I kept my mouth shut because she loved you, not because I ever thought I had a chance in hell.” Stiles snarled in disgust, but it was fast, flashing across his face only for a second. 

“You still used her as a distraction.” Stupidly, Jackson didn’t back down. 

“I would have respected you if you said you did it to protect her,” Stiles snapped. 

Jackson took a deep breath, scowling like he was going to argue, but his face fell flat before anything else could come flying out of his mouth. 

Stiles flexed his jaw tightly as Jackson backed off. He realized he was taller than Jackson now, and bigger. It had been so long since Jackson had actually gotten close enough to put his hands on Stiles, he hadn’t seen the difference. Now it shocked him. In his mind Jackson was huge and terrifying, but Stiles got taller his senior year while Jackson stayed the same. 

“Can we be cool? I don’t really want to get my ass handed to me, at least not tonight,” Jackson asked. 

“No--I mean, yes--we can be cool,” Stiles said quietly. For some reason he didn’t like the idea that Jackson might be afraid of him that way. It should have made him feel powerful and maybe a little avenged, but Stiles just felt like an asshole for making Jackson feel unsafe like he had just begged Erica not to do. “Sorry, I’m trying to keep my shit together here. I promise, we’re cool for now,” Stiles assured him. He wasn’t willing to promise anything in the future, but for now they both needed a wide berth. 

“I get that dude, believe me. You have to keep your mind on something good, like something that makes you really happy.” Jackson was eager to help at least, sticking to what he had offered earlier. 

“You mean like someone?” Stiles asked, moving toward the back door where Derek was waiting. 

“Someone is dangerous, something is better,” Jackson said with a look of foreboding, like he knew from experience. 

“Lydia?” Stiles asked. 

Jackson nodded, confirming his suspicions. “When she broke up with me I kinda lost my shit,” he admitted, obviously still ashamed of it. “After that I decided to go to Harvard instead of Berkley like we planned.” Jackson paused as they walked out the door Derek held open for them. He fell in line next to Stiles and taking his hand as they walked side by side. 

“When I found out I got into Harvard something changed,” Jackson continued. “I just didn't need a big thing to anchor me down anymore like I did before. Knowing I can control myself is enough now, as long as I don't dwell on shit that bothers me a lot. Running helps, I’m really glad that’s the plan actually.” 

Jackson smiled and all the chiseled, model good looks evaporated for a moment making him look goofy and approachable. It was the smile Stiles had seen on Derek hundreds of times, Laura a lot less, but he never put the two together before. They all looked alike in subtle ways, like family did. Jackson looked a lot more like Laura though, and pictures he had seen of Peter, but the smile was undeniably a Hale trait. So were the huge eyebrows. Once Stiles noticed it, he couldn’t unsee it.

Just outside the back gate, near the garage, Boyd, Erica, and Laura were already waiting for them. Pairing off was the obvious option, but matching each other by strength and size left him with Jackson. Like he was thinking the same thing, Jackson looked over at him apologetically then back at Boyd like he hoped he wouldn’t have to help take him down. 

“He seems like a pretty nice guy?” Jackson said quietly as Boyd tried to laugh his way through whatever Derek was explaining, already obviously uncomfortable. 

“She’s the one we really have to worry about,” Stiles said, nodding to Erica. 

“What about you?” Jackson asked. He looked appropriately concerned so Stiles answered. 

“My head feels pretty quiet, even though I can feel it wanting to get out,” Stiles described, rubbing the base of his skull where the wolf let him know it was waiting. 

“I get kind of cold, in my chest mostly. Then it just takes over like a flash. It’s almost like it wants to force it’s way out before I change my mind,” Jackson described. 

The description matched Stiles’ working theory fairly well that they all felt different because the shapeshifter energy was sentient and reacting to their personalities. Stiles welcomed it enthusiastically, so it knew it would have it’s time. It didn’t struggle with him for control. Jackson was indecisive and temperamental at best. He was an over achiever for sure, but the only things he permanently clung to were LaCrosse and Lydia. 

“Do you know what you’re going to think about?” Jackson asked, eyeing Boyd who was growing increasingly agitated as Derek talked to him. 

“My dad. I know you said a person wasn’t--” 

“No,” Jackson interrupted him abruptly. “No, that’s probably different, not like I’d know, but that’ll probably work fine,” Jackson talked nervously as he explained himself. “Your dad’s a really good guy. Even if he doesn’t know about it, I think it’s okay.” Jackson’s words were too simplified, almost childish in their sentiment. He was trying to reassure Stiles but didn’t know how. 

“He knows. He was there when Laura attacked me. He almost blew her head off with a Desert Eagle.” Stiles crossed his arms, feeling an irrational surge of anger at how close Laura came to losing her head. Maybe his dad wasn’t a good idea.

“Wow, but what about Derek and--forget that,” Jackson backpedaled, aborting whatever question he had. “I don’t think my dad would do anything like that if he saw me in danger except try to serve the guilty party afterward with a lawsuit,” Jackson smiled, but the disappointment in his voice was real. 

“Aren’t you going to law school this year?” Stiles asked, hoping to steer the conversation to a better place. 

“No, changed my mind, Pre Med,” Jackson grinned like he was expecting Stiles to be surprised. 

“You’d make a great surgeon,” Stiles pointed out. Jackson looked at him thoughtfully, like he was sure it was a compliment, until Stiles finished his thought. “Arrogant as fuck with a god complex. No one will even care that you still look like a teenager when you’re finally done with the twelve years of school it takes because you'll be so much of an asshole all they'll see is the eyebrows and the scowl,” Stiles smiled, satisfied with getting in a couple harmless insults. 

“Oh, and I thought we were being friends Stilinski?” Jackson laughed, having thankfully cultivated a sense of humor over the last year. “I tell you what, you catch me, I’ll let you take another stab at hurting my feelings by describing how awesome I’ll be at my job someday,” Jackson taunted, backing away like he was about to bolt. 

Running a few steps, Jackson turned back to make sure he was following and his eyes flashed bright, cold blue. Stiles stopped dead in his tracks, afraid of what it meant. He looked over at Derek, who had started paying attention the moment Jackson started moving. The look on Derek’s face said everything. He had seen it too. Jackson kept going, smiling, oblivious to the sudden revelation. Stiles followed him, unwilling to let Jackson out of his sight until he found out more about how his eyes came to be that color. 

Keeping up with Jackson wasn’t that difficult, but Stiles suspected Jackson wasn’t pushing him hard. Stiles could hear everyone else behind them, keeping pace quietly. He was beginning to feel the burn in his legs on their second pass through the valley when the moon finally rose over the horizon. He didn’t see it at first, but he felt it. Icy, cold fingers gripping his bones and pulling him the wrong direction. He stumbled and slammed into a tree painfully. The pain stopped him from turning as his wolf surged forward, surprising him. It had been so quiet, so unobtrusive, he didn’t understand now why it thrashed around like it wanted to eat him alive. 

“Stiles--Stiles, are you okay?” Jackson slid to a stop as he was dragging himself to his feet. 

The challenge that went unanswered earlier flooded his mind. He was telling himself no, to stop moving and reacting, but the wolf didn't care. It sent him vague impressions about a trade off, and fairness. Staying quiet in exchange for a few hours a month of complete and total freedom to fight and feast as it pleased. It reveled in the hunger, sharing visions of Jackson’s warm blood covering his hands as he tore into the soft flesh of his gut. 

Being bargained with by a foreign entity that sounded like a deranged serial killer was not what Stiles expected. He panicked, stumbling back against the tree as he struggled with it. Jackson reached out to steady him and Stiles warned him off with a sound that wasn’t human. Jackson didn’t flinch or pull back, instead he prepared himself, standing ready like he was waiting for Stiles to attack. 

“You better not be going feral on me Stilinski. I don’t want to have to tell your dad why we had to find a cage big enough to hold your sorry ass,” Jackson said, his voice cruel and taunting, just like it used to be. 

“Jackson, shut-up,” Stiles hissed, still holding onto himself, just barely. 

Sweat fell into his eyes and his shirt clung to him wetly as he plastered himself against the tree. He didn't want to move. He was sure if he did, the wolf would take the opportunity to slip into the drivers seat and Stiles would disappear like Erica had. 

“Seriously Stilinski?” Jackson looked behind him as Boyd and Derek got closer. His face set with determination. He moved into Stiles space, standing too close. Stiles could smell him, the slight scent of Lydia hanging around like a slap in the face, proving assholes like Jackson were guaranteed to get what they wanted because everyone's expectations were so low. “If you’re going to shit out on me, you aren’t worth my fucking time,” Jackson said, openly disgusted. 

Jackson balled his fist in Stiles' shirt then dragged him away from the tree roughly until Stiles stumbled forward and fell to his knees. As he struggled to right himself the wolf clawed at his mind, fighting him for every move they made. It was a struggle to hate Jackson, and a struggle to stay in control, but it wasn’t difficult to run after Jackson. Not when he intended to harm him in some way. For a moment it was the only thing he and the wolf agreed on, so they focused on that, honing in on the sound of Jackson's heartbeat, the pace of his breaths and the pounding of Jackson’s feet against the ground. 

No matter how hard he pushed himself, he couldn’t catch Jackson. He was always just out of reach, or so far away Stiles was almost sure he would never be able to catch up. After a while he saw a pattern, realized Jackson was taunting him by letting him get close enough to almost catch him, then surging forward to lose Stiles again. His heart pounded in his chest from exertion and dehydration, but Jackson was still steady and holding strong. He was far better at this, more practiced. They were running down from the peak of the tallest mountain framing the valley, skipping over rocks and fallen trees as they ran down the steep mountain side recklessly. 

Chasing Jackson through a narrow deer path that cut through the trees, Stiles stopped when the dense forest opened up to a creek. The long, flat valley below was flooded with moonlight under the clear sky. Jackson was running across a log bridge that looked like it was a hundred years old. He stopped and looked back at Stiles like he was waiting for Stiles to catch up. Anger welled up in his chest again seeing Jackson's smug face. It was too easy for him, and it was unfair he was even here. Stiles rushed for him, jumping up on the bridge and heading straight for him at full speed. He expected Jackson to cut and run, but he didn't move. Instead he lowered his head and braced himself for an attack, his face warped and twisted angrily, his teeth and claws on display like a challenge. 

The force of impact sent them off the bridge and into the shallow creek below. The cold water hit him like a crashing wave of ice. He was frozen momentarily as his body screamed out in pain, twisting in on itself against the frigid cold temperature. He struggled to swim but all the wolf could do was howl in pain and frustration. Eventually, the wolf had to give over full control to Stiles or they were going to drown. The moment the wolf let go, Stiles headed for the surface and shallower water, standing up in the glacial runoff as soon as he felt rock underneath his feet. Breathing heavy in the warm night air, after the run and the icy cold, made Stiles shiver and cough as he dragged himself to shore. 

He spotted Jackson struggling to get out of the water nearby, looking back over his shoulder every few seconds. Stiles followed him, pulling himself up through the muck at the edge of the creek, almost losing his shoes in the process. Jackson threw himself down in the mud and rested on the bank. He hunched over on himself for warmth, but he was watching Stiles closely. Stiles raised his hands in surrender and threw himself down on the grassy, muddy bank next to him. He was spent from the run and still shaking from the cold. The last thing he wanted to do was fight. 

“You okay?” Jackson breathed out, his teeth rattling almost as much as Stiles’ were. 

“Asshole,” Stiles muttered, forcing himself to sit up and fold himself over like Jackson to retain a little bit of his own heat. 

Jackson let loose a short, quiet laugh. He was smiling now, but his eyes were still fixed on Stiles cautiously. Jackson wasn't stupid. A moment later Derek and Boyd came through the clearing, with Laura and Erica right behind them. Derek pushed Boyd forward playfully, pointing at Stiles and Jackson. Stiles was still so cold he couldn't focus on what he was saying but Boyd looked at him murderously for a moment, then immediately softened when Erica shot past him, heading for the river. 

Like an unstoppable hurricane of insanity, Erica started shedding clothes as she headed for the creek, almost completely naked by the time she hit the water. She screamed in surprise, but it didn't stop her from getting all the way in. She came out of the freezing water looking like she was half drown and about to shake out of her own skin. Stiles laughed and watched as Boyd picked up her clothes, motioning for her to come out of the water. He was about to tease Erica for her terrible decision making when he saw Laura running for the shore, stripping down as well. 

“Jesus Christ Stilinski, I leave you alone for a couple years and you start collecting centerfolds?” Jackson scoffed loudly. "It's fucking criminal you're into the one with the beard." 

Stiles was about to give the idea of punching Jackson a second chance when he realized he had ammunition now. Lots of it. “Dude,” Stiles turned to look him dead in the eye. "That’s your cousin.” 

The sick satisfaction of watching Jackson’s face fall in disgust and self loathing was all the vindication he would ever need for a lifetime. Every time Jackson ever mentioned a single thing that pissed Stiles off he could just mutter the word ‘cousin’ and Jackson would curdle instantly. Stiles was so sure of it he didn't even plan on testing it until it really mattered. The trial run would be saved for a strategically impactful situation, and it would be beautiful. 

Stiles kicked off his shoes and pulled his muddy shirt over his head, intending on going in after Erica if she didn't come out soon. Derek laughed as he walked toward Stiles, watching his sister and Erica teaming up against Boyd in an effort to shame him into the water. He was going to cave in, everyone knew it, even Boyd, but he was going to make them suffer for a few more seconds at least. 

Never so grateful for warmth, Stiles curled against Derek. He groaned loudly as Derek's body heat seeped into his skin. Still watching the drama play out, Derek’s attention was fixed on Boyd. Even though it was unspoken, Boyd was his responsibility, Derek wouldn't take that lightly. Boyd bellowed his absolute horror at how cold the water was, reaching out for Erica like he thought she might help, or keep him warm. 

“Oh, mistake, Boyd,” Stiles whispered, cringing as Erica pulled him into the freezing water. 

“Mistake, Laura,” Derek countered, shaking his head in disappointment as Laura stumbled too close to Boyd, getting dragged under with him for her trouble. 

Jackson laughed hysterically watching them all, not even knowing any of them, it was still hilarious. Erica stumbled out of the water, her legs and feet moving in a jerky, uncoordinated manner. She dropped herself unceremoniously next to Jackson and introduced herself. Jackson shook her hand tentatively. 

“This was your idea?” Erica asked gesturing to the icy cold creek.

“Uh, kind of. My girlfriend Lydia sorta did the same thing the first time I changed, but it was her unheated swimming pool in the middle of winter,” Jackson explained. “I didn't even know this existed until we got here, and I have no idea why it’s so fucking cold.” 

“Glacial runoff,” Boyd said almost unintelligibly as he shivered past them. 

A heavy thud hit their side as Laura clung to both of them, trembling and freezing in nothing but her tank top and underwear. 

“Hey, backoff, crazy!” Derek said ruthlessly, letting go of Stiles as he pushed Laura off. He laughed at her hurt expression, then picked up her henley off the ground and stood in front of her like a giant wall. Derek was giving her privacy to change. He slung her shirt over his shoulder for her. “There, you can huddle for warmth when you’re dry,” he said. 

“You let Stiles hug you!” Laura protested as her tank top hit the ground and the henley vanished from Derek’s shoulder. 

“He wasn’t wearing a sopping wet shirt,” Derek said, lifting his arms to point at the big wet spot on his side. 

“Hey!” Laura protested losing half of her modesty screen, even though they were too busy laughing to get a good look. 

“Sorry,” Derek said sheepishly.

“Okay,” Laura slipped out from behind Derek. “You promised!” she said loudly, still shivering from the cold. 

Derek wrapped his arms around her then made a face like he was shocked by how cold she was. “Holy shit, what were you thinking?” Derek dropped himself to the ground, taking Laura with him. He wrapped her up, tucking his legs against her as well. 

“I can’t believe you went in, you’re what? A buck five soaking wet, pun sort of intended,” Stiles grinned. 

Laura opened her mouth to protest but Derek stepped up first. “She’s a hundred and fifteen pounds, Stiles.” 

Derek sounded so serious, like he was legitimately offended Stiles would assume Laura was smaller than she actually was. Stiles was about to ask when Jackson busted up laughing and Derek grinned. 

“I totally thought you meant that,” Stiles admitted, a little embarrassed. “Deadpan game is strong in this one," Stiles warned everyone. His admission made Derek laugh so hard Laura started to laugh too. Feeling bad for her lack of protective body mass, Stiles sat down next to Derek and threw his arms around both of them. He ignored her muddy feet in his lap because he was already covered in mud anyhow. 

“My feet are gross," Laura protested, but Stiles pinned her feet against his leg before she could move them. 

“Alpha’s do not lose toes, especially not tiny ones,” Stiles said. Laura glared at him. He opened his mouth, about to brave using the nickname he came up with earlier. 

“Say it and you’ll be eating teeth,” Laura warned. 

Stiles pursed his lips, wanting to call her the nickname more than anything he had ever wanted in his whole life. 

“What?” Derek asked, completely lost. 

“I’ll tell you later,” Stiles said, relenting under the death glare of the tiniest alpha herself. 

“No you won’t!” Laura protested. “Pack law, I said no. You have to listen.” 

“I think you may have ruined your authority. I feel absolutely no compulsion whatsoever to keep my mouth shut,” Stiles shrugged. “Or... maybe you always wanted a nickname?” he laughed.

“Stiles!” Laura screeched. 

“What nickname?” Derek asked, holding Laura back as she pretended she was going to hurt him. 

“Oh just this really cute thing I thought up earlier in the annex--” 

“That’s it! You’re dead!” Laura lunged for him, scrambling out of Derek’s lap. 

Stiles ran because he wasn’t stupid. He had definitely gone too far. He slipped around Derek, narrowly avoiding her only because she was still a little slow. Sliding through the mud, Stiles just barely made it to the bridge before Laura. He ran across at full speed not looking back until he heard a loud crack and a splash. He came to a skidding stop on the wet moss along the end of the bridge. Laura wasn’t behind him. She was sinking into the shallow water. Panic and pain flashed across his mind like neon signs. He ran back across the bridge and dropped himself into the rushing water near where she went in. 

Luckily he reacted fast enough she didn't get too far away. He pulled Laura out of the water by her arm. She gasped in pain as he tried to stand her up. Unwilling to wait for an explanation, Stiles scooped her up and headed for shore. He couldn't tell what was wrong with her right away, but there was a lot of pain. She was wide eyed and shivering, clinging to his neck as he carefully made his way over the slick rocks. Derek met him at the shore. Laura pointed to her shin as the source of the problem. 

“So dumb," Laura protested through a cold induced stammer. "I’ll heal. Fucking up all the fun.” Laura tried to smile apologetically as Derek positioned himself to pull on her leg and set it. Laura grit her teeth and scowled angrily as Derek tugged it straight. They both waited for the relief to set in as Laura healed but nothing changed. “Too cold," she complained, shaking her head. 

"It's blood flow probably, slowing everything down," Stiles guessed. 

“I’ll take her back,” Derek held out his arms expectantly. Stiles shook his head, not willing to give her over when it was his fault she was hurt to begin with. “You sure?” Derek asked. 

“I’m fine,” Laura insisted, letting go of his neck like she expected him to drop her right there. 

“No, I can take you back. You can't walk on it, that's stupid,” Stiles shook his head, already walking toward the bridge. 

"You're stupid," Laura scoffed. 

"I'm sorry," Stiles said.

“No Stiles, we were having fun. It was just an accident,” Laura huffed. Her voice sounded better and she was shivering less already. She recovered a lot faster than he did. She would be healed soon, but she still held on to him tighter as he stepped out on to the bridge. 

Nervous as they walked across, Laura was distracted from everything else, thankfully. They were maybe a mile away from the sanctuary, but it was an easy, flat mile through low brush and open valley. There was one last stand of trees ahead, then a clear cut area around the sanctuary for security and a fire break. 

“I didn't know this was back here or we probably would have been sneaking off to go skinny dip during the heat waves,” Stiles said, trying to make some kind of conversation because Laura looked miserable as they plodded along. 

“This is all Hale property. There’s a really old homestead up that direction,” Laura pointed upstream from the creek. “My mom took me there one time to get wolfsbane from my great grandmother's grave.” 

“Is your great grandmother the only one up there?” Stiles asked, rolling with the conversation as best he could. He knew the cabin existed because Chris had told him, but he had never seen it himself.

“Oh, no. There’s a couple dozen graves up there at least. The Hale family was huge before the nematon was cut down by Deaton’s father,” Laura explained, creating a whole host of questions for Stiles to ask. 

“What’s a nematon?” 

“A tree. It's a Druid thing. It used to be important. It used to protect us, it’s dead now though.” 

“And Deaton’s father?” Stiles asked. 

“My dad gutted him for it. I’m not sure Deaton’s father had a choice in cutting it down. I think that was why Deaton and my mom had an affair. They were both mad at my dad for what he’d done and they spent a lot of time talking about it,” Laura talked like she was telling a pleasant story, not something that sounded like an episode of Dark Shadows, werewolf edition. 

“It’s gotta be weird being the only two left,” Stiles said, making an attempt to commiserate. 

“There’s four of us now though,” Laura corrected him, her voice almost hopeful. 

"Peter," Stiles said, remembering he still counted even though he was unconscious. Stiles was reluctant to say Jackson's name out loud. Resentment kept flaring up unexpectedly.

“Peter might still be out, but I think he’ll wake up someday. He might even be better, maybe. He used to be really cool. He was the only one who believed Derek when he came to us about Kate. He was so suspicious and paranoid I think it hurt Derek’s case having Peter on his side though. The rest of us thought Derek was taking her attention the wrong way,” Laura admitted. 

"Derek doesn't didn't seem like the kind of person to make something like that up," Stiles said. Derek was too honest and fearless for his own good back then. 

“He wasn't. We wanted to believe that, so we pretended it was true.” Laura's voice was dark and quiet. She still carried a lot of guilt. 

Part of him wanted to say out loud that they had betrayed Derek, but Laura already knew that, and she wasn't calling the shots at the time. Stiles let it go because everyone to blame for the situation was dead, except Kate. They had paid for their mistake, resenting or hating them wouldn’t do anyone any good. 

“Did you know Kate?” Stiles asked, figuring now was as good a time as any to ask. Laura was talking like she wanted him to know things.

“I didn't, but I spent a little time with her before she died,” Laura said thoughtfully. 

“Kate’s in Glenwood correctional for the next hundred years,” Stiles said, unsure if Laura was delirious from the cold or confused about who Stiles was talking about. 

Laura lifted herself up a little and pulled down his ear, like she wanted what she said to be a secret. “I paid the warden to make her disappear years ago,” Laura whispered. “He slipped nasty, murderous lunatic into her place, but no one is allowed to visit Kate, so no one will ever know,” Laura confessed, smiling a little. 

“You had her killed?” Stiles asked. 

“No, I let her loose near the old house then hunted her down myself. She’s buried in the old basement, in a few places. I figure if ghosts are real, she should be pretty close to ours. Just in case they want a little revenge too.” Laura looked up at him, her arms tight around his neck. 

Stiles fell silent. He was sure he should be terrified, or mortified, maybe something in between. Instead he felt a surge of relief and pride. She beautifully executed revenge for Derek and the rest of her family. There was no doubt in his mind that Kate deserved whatever Laura had done to her. Derek knew, he had to. It had to be why he said he didn’t mind knowing Kate was still alive in prison, why it looked like it didn’t bother him at all when everything else still did. It was also why he seemed to forgive Laura so easily. She slayed the nightmare, the thing that ripped Derek’s whole world to pieces. Derek appreciated what Laura did, and loved her for it. 

Laura took care of the problem for everyone, and she wasn’t sorry about what she had done. Stiles wanted to say something, but it was too macabre and too fucked up to thank her outright. Fleeting, gruesome thoughts about how much Kate suffered, and questions he would never ask ran through his mind. He wondered if Laura did it in hopes it would bring Derek back, and if she left when it didn't work. He suspected that was exactly what happened. But instead of asking her questions that might alienate her again, he smiled down at her. 

“Thank you for telling me that,” Stiles said. He could breathe a little easier now, knowing that emotional torture wasn’t coming for them someday. 

“You needed to know.” 

“I daydreamed up a few scenarios over the years myself to be honest. I even looked up her record at the police station, but I don’t have the resources you do,” Stiles admitted. 

“You will,” Laura promised. 

“Does Chris know?” Stiles asked, concerned about a whole new set of potential problems. 

“He knows it would be a bad idea to petition for visitation privileges, but the look on his face when I told him was a whole lot more about relief than curiosity.”

“That’s it, he never asked again?” Stiles had a hard time believing Chris would let that go. 

“I think he was glad it was finally over. I made my move and it didn’t come crashing down on him like everything else Kate did,” Laura explained. “He loved her, but he loves Allison and Victoria more. Kate was never going to do anything but hurt them. He was living with that just as much as we were living with what she’d done.” 

“It still seems like it would be an impossible choice,” Stiles said, unsure of what he would have done in Chris’s place. 

“For Chris, yeah. That’s why I made it for him,” Laura said like that part of her motivation should have been obvious to Stiles. 

It wasn’t obvious to him. He didn’t think he was allowed to make decisions like that for other people, and maybe she wasn’t either. But the fact that she thought she could, and made the right one, said a lot about her potential to be a good leader. He wasn’t a leader by any stretch of the imagination. He wasn’t a blind follower either, but he certainly didn’t possess any kind of motivation to make choices for others, especially the people he cared about.

“Just because you cleaned up the mess doesn’t mean it wasn’t an impossible choice for you as well,” Stiles pointed out. 

“You better shut-up or I might start to think you have some fucking respect for me little brother,” Laura said, swinging her legs like she was happy. 

“When did your leg heal?” Stiles asked. 

“A few minutes ago,” Laura grinned. “I’m the alpha, I do what I want.” 

Stiles laughed and dropped her legs, setting her on her feet lightly. She fished an arm around his waist and walked with him toward the sanctuary. As they approached the wolves chuckled and called to each other, warning the pack of their arrival. Sunny moved along the fence close to him, recognizing the both of them. 

“It’s kinda painful now, knowing they can't run like we can,” Stiles pointed out. “We should make the fence line bigger. We could do it ourselves now and we wouldn’t have to worry about relocating them during construction like before.” 

“Why would they be relocated?” Laura asked. 

“Safety and security Chris said. It’s too stressful for them with all the equipment and noise, but we don't need that, right?” Stiles asked. 

“No, we certainly do not,” Laura said thoughtfully as they walked along the fence. 

Already making plans, half his mind fixated on the logistics of a new fence, the other half on the promise of real warmth so close he could already feel it. The annoying ache in his neck was missing. Looking up at the sky, Stiles searched, but the moon was gone. He hadn’t even noticed it passing. The pull was still there, but it was faint, even less so than earlier in the day. Heavy footsteps fell behind him and he he turned to see Jackson running toward the gate by the garage, Erica close behind. They passed and Stiles heard laughing, but the way she bounced him off the fence looked like she wasn’t too happy with him. 

“Mercy! I’m sorry,” Jackson laughed, trying to catch his breath. 

“You better be,” Erica opened the gate and shoved him inside. She stopped and leaned against the gate as they walked up. “He is really an asshole, where do you get off letting that shit slide?” Erica asked him. 

“I’m not, we agreed to tolerate each other. I’ve already devised a couple of plans to make him pay. Believe me,” Stiles assured her. 

“Be nice,” Laura warned. 

“Hey, he might be Baby Boy Hale to you, and by all means dry his eyes when I’m done with him, but he laid into me enough times I deserve a little retribution. It’s not like he’s not expecting it,” Stiles tried to sell Laura on the idea, but she wasn't biting. “Okay, how about this: if I don’t get my payback, he will never really respect me.” 

Laura scowled, then narrowed her eyes like she wasn’t sure if he was pulling one over on her. “Promise me no maiming, emotionally or physically,” she demanded. 

“I can promise physically and tell you I will make a concentrated effort not to emotionally scar him, but it might need to be done. The only thing I can assure you of, in that respect, is that you will not be angry about it if I do.” Stiles presented his negotiated terms in a way that nearly assured Laura would agree to them. 

“Fine, but if you make him cry, you’re cleaning it up,” Laura held her hands up and let him go, walking into the annex in front of him. 

“No, not fair. Definitely not fair. That negates the entire point!” Stiles called after her.


	13. The Truth Isn't Always Easy

“Can anyone remind me why I thought this was a good idea?” Stiles asked, hiking another fence post over his shoulder. 

“Because you’re a good man who isn’t afraid of a little hard work, son!” his dad bellowed from the ladder he was standing on. 

Stapling things with a power stapler did not look much like hard work to Stiles. They were three hours into the second day of work and his dad hadn’t even broken a sweat. Sure, stapling barbed wire was dangerous, and his dad had managed to not cut himself yet, but every few minutes Derek would come by and unroll a length for his dad before he went back to widening the post holes they had dug with the post hole auger the day before. His dad had the easiest job, which made him kind of a dick being so cheerful. 

As far as life skills went there was no way Stiles was ever going to need to know how to build a high security, wolf friendly fence again, but now he did. He had planned the whole thing, with some help from Laura. They submitted the plans to Chris in a very official manner, hoping to sell the idea easily. Chris looked them over quickly, asking how much it would take out of the budget. When Laura said nothing, Chris smiled and handed it back to them with a nod like it was no big deal. Laura expected it to be more complicated, but Chris assured them it was private property and they had authority to do as they saw fit in terms of keeping the wolves and the community safe. 

A week later they were building, hoping to get it done before the real work started on Erica and Boyd’s wedding. The only thing that slowed them down was the lack of Laura. Stiles was glad his dad was there to help. He was the only one of them with actual experience building fences, or anything at all, but his dad being around meant Laura made herself scarce. She loaded in supplies, made food runs, and cleaned up after them, but she stayed far away from his dad. Every time he tried to get his dad to make some kind of effort to see the bigger picture all his dad would do was pretend to listen, nod and walk away. At least Stiles was outspokenly stubborn and willing to argue. His dad was worse than he could ever hope to be. 

Buzzing in his pocket gave him an excuse to drop the fence post, earning him a disapproving glance from Derek, who literally never stopped working until someone called a break. It was Laura, texting from the parking lot, asking for their lunch order. She was offering Rosa’s, Tex-Mex and the best horchata in town. She wasn't willing to come out to ask. Sure, she could hear them all from her car in the parking lot, but Laura wasn't lazy. She just didn't want to upset his dad, butSTiles thought his dad should get over it already. 

“Rosa’s for lunch, Laura’s asking what we all want,” Stiles shouted for his dad’s benefit mostly. Everyone called out an order, mostly numbers from the lunch menu. They ate there a lot because it was close by. “Dad, what do you want?” Stiles asked when he didn’t answer. 

“I’m fine son, thank you.” he said as he twisted another length of barbed wire over the top fence post carefully. 

Laura sent a text asking if his dad wanted his usual, a number seven. Stiles wasn’t sure how she knew that, but the offer was some kind of effort on her part. “Laura’s asking if you want a number seven, with a flan maybe?” Stiles offered, grinning as he dangled forbidden desserts as incentive to answer. 

“Laura’s asking,” his dad scoffed, mocking him like it was something he made up. “I’m fine, Stiles. I already said so.” 

Stiles walked over and handed the phone up to his dad, letting him read the one sided texts. He wasn’t sure where it would go but it proved she was paying attention and gave a shit, even if she was still terrified of his father. After reading the texts his dad passed the phone back and looked over his shoulder toward the parking lot. 

“She can really hear us all the way out there?” his dad asked. 

“Yeah, I can hear that far. She’s better,” Stiles said. 

“I sort of thought it was just you, honestly,” his dad said, suddenly much more quiet than he had been before. “Derek said it was different for everyone but--” 

“Not that different dad.” 

“Obviously.” His dad scowled at nothing in particular then nodded. “Okay, a number seven, and a flan,” his dad pressed, pointing a finger at Stiles like he might take back the desert. 

“Whatever. I’m telling Melissa,” Stiles threatened, but his dad ignored him, mostly because it was an empty threat. Stiles sent a text to Laura that was just a smiley face. 

A half an hour later Stiles heard Laura drive up and park. He weighed out the gamble for the last time, deciding he didn’t have much to lose. His dad might not venture to make things better, but he certainly wouldn’t make things worse, he wanted peace too much for that. 

“Dad, you’ve almost caught up to us, can you go help Laura?” Stiles said, lifting a bundle of fence posts all at once to look extra busy. He didn’t wait for his dad to respond before walking away toward Derek. 

Listening for the inevitable sigh and grumble, Stiles smiled when his dad didn’t do either of those things before getting down off the ladder and heading toward the main building. Then Stiles realized his dad probably didn't complain because he was conscious of everyone's ability to hear what he said, not because he didn't want to. 

“You’re playing with fire, and my sister’s currently unperforated head. If she pushes your dad, he’ll kill her,” Derek warned. 

“No he won’t, and he isn't very good at holding a grudge either,” Stiles insisted. 

“This is different Stiles, even I’m still really mad at Laura for what she did,” Derek admitted. 

“Yeah?” Stiles didn’t know Derek was still angry. “Why?” he asked. Stiles assumed they worked it out a long time ago. 

“She didn’t have to do it the way she did. She knew--she could have talked to you, and your dad. Done it a lot better.” Derek scowled, unhappy about a lot more than Stiles understood. 

“My dad? Why would she have--?” Stiles stopped, understanding the only reason why Laura might have included his father in the discussion. 

Bolting for the back door of the main building, Stiles considered yelling for his dad as he watched him slip inside the door. Stiles focused his hearing on the two of them just as his dad met Laura in the hallway. 

_”Stiles sent me in to help. Let me get some of those before they fall,” his dad said politely._

_“Thanks, I should have asked for bags,” Laura answered quietly._

_“Damn, these are hot,” his dad laughed._

__Stiles slowed down and stopped at the gate, waiting to see what happened instead of rushing inside because his dad laughed. If he was going to start a fight with Laura, or still held a lot of resentment toward her, his dad never would have laughed.

_“I have a question for you Laura.”_

_“Yes, sir.”_

_“Did you know about Claudia, Stiles’ mom before you--um, changed him?” he asked._

_“Everyone knew. You remember my mom was her friend? We were heartbroken. We loved Claudia,” Laura answered, surprising Stiles._

_“Your mother knew my wife?”_

_“Of course, my little sister Cora and Stiles went to school together and Claudia did all the--”_

_“Oh, PTA, field trips, school fairs, talent shows. Right. I heard all about it. I don’t remember hearing your mother’s name though.”_

_“They called her Lia. That’s what her human friends called her. Talia was kind of weird. ”_

_“Lia, right. Pumpkin cookies. Always volunteered to drive?”_

_“Uh, yeah, we had a huge van. Big family.”_

_“Right, right... So, you knew about--”_

_“The frontotemporal dementia. My mom said Stiles had it.”_

_“He was--you knew for sure, all this time?” his dad asked urgently._

_“I forgot sir, until he called me." Silence stretched out for a few too many heartbeats, but Laura cleared her throat and continued. "It was a long time ago for me, and so much happened, but I know my mom planned to do something about it. She never would have let him suffer through that.”_

__There was a long silence, his dad’s heart beat faster, but there was no movement. Stiles gripped the handle of the gate forcing himself to wait it out. That part of his life was over. Laura and his dad were actually working things out.

_”Are you sure?” his dad asked, sounding upset._

_”I can't be absolutely sure, I won't lie to you and pretend I am, but there was something wrong with him. I don't know exactly what because I'm not as good at these things as my mother was. She would have done a lot of things differently. I panicked because Derek was gone again... I’m not proud of how I did it, but I don’t think it was a mistake.”_

__There was another long silence, but his dad’s heart rate was slowing. He was calming down. __

_“You should have given him a choice. I’m not sure if I can forgive you for that.”_

_“I understand. Derek's still mad at me and I deserve that. Stiles keeps saying he would have said yes, it wasn’t even a question, but I don’t think he really knows what he’s saying.”_

_“He rarely does,” his dad said a little too flippantly. “You knew I was home then?” his dad asked, finally putting that obvious deduction together._

_“Yes, sir, I wanted to make sure there was someone to take care of him. I didn't want him to keep it secret from you.” Laura conveniently didn't mention that she was scared to be there while Stiles changed, or how his dad almost killed him trying to take care of him._

_“I spent the last few years watching David Whittemore slowly give up on his son. Jackson refuses to tell either of his parents. When I talked to him about it all I can think is how lucky I am that’s not me.” His dad sounded genuinely grateful._

_“David knows now, I told him everything,” Laura admitted, surprising Stiles._

_“You did, why?”_

_“Because it’s unfair. They’re already scared. They deserve to know.” Laura's conviction could have been a front, but she was saying all the right things to his father, that much was certain._

_“That’s--honestly, that surprises me. What if Jackson finds out, won’t he be angry?”_

_“He will be. When he does find out he’ll be pissed at me though, not at them. In the end he’ll know I cared enough to do what he couldn't. It's for the best.”_

_“That’s a tough place to put yourself in. I’ve never been popular when I make those kind of choices for Stiles.”_

_“That’s what family does, even when you're wrong and they never forgive you.”_

_“They don't see it that diplomatically.”_

_“They will when they have kids of their own.” Laura said smugly, like she knew, but she wasn't a mother._

Walking away from the self congratulatory leadership party was the only reasonable choice. Stiles wasn't going to go toe to toe with his father or Laura over autonomy right then, not when they were working things out. Stiles had been taking care of himself for so long he felt like he was equipped to make his own choices. It was the big point of contention between he and his father when his dad swooped in and started acting like Stiles didn't have a choice. Pretending he hadn’t overheard the conversation was the best choice for everybody. It was hard for Stiles to like either of them after what they shared with each other. Stiles pretended not to notice the significantly lessened tension between Laura and his father as they walked outside and dropped lunch in an unceremonious pile, then went back to work. 

“Erica! You want yours?” Jackson called, opening her takeout box first. He piled up Boyd’s as well and walked it over to the far section of the fence line where they were laying rock and brick between the fence posts so the wolves couldn't dig themselves out. 

Watching Erica, Boyd and Jackson interact objectively was eye opening. Jackson seemed to genuinely like them, and he didn't like anyone but Lydia. Stiles assumed before that Jackson was endearing himself strategically because they were huge and powerful. Their interactions were very different than that though. Jackson talked with Erica about Lydia the same way Stiles talked about Derek. Boyd listened silently, like usual, but Jackson dragged him into the conversation like he was looking for some kind of approval. Boyd's approval was a pretty good thing for Jackson to want. If it was up to Boyd, Jackson might have a chance in hell at learning how to not be an asshole constantly. 

“Hey, why are you kind of pissed?” Derek asked, nudging his shoulder lightly. 

His dad and Laura had both gone back to work, and he had barely touched his lunch. The conversation between his dad and Laura made one thing very clear: Stiles needed some space from people who thought they could make choices about his life better than he could. Maybe he wanted it more than he needed it, but he needed it for sanity and his continued ability to get along with both his dad and Laura. 

“I think it’s time I move out,” Stiles announced quietly, sure no one was interested in overhearing. 

“Did Scott say something?” Derek asked, assuming like everyone else Stiles planned on moving out and living with Scott. Stiles wasn’t planning anything like that. That much loyalty and unadulterated optimism had to be tempered by a little space. He and Scott learned that a long time ago. 

“Probably my own place,” Stiles answered, stabbing at his refried beans. 

“You don’t seem very happy about that.” Derek sat down next to him on the pile of fence posts and put his lunch aside to give Stiles his undivided attention. 

“I don't want to live alone,” Stiles admitted. “I’ve had the money to move out for a while, but I don’t know what to do with it. I used to want my own place, a lot. My own living room, my own kitchen to ignore, bathroom to never clean. Now I think about it and the idea makes me feel physically ill,” Stiles explained, pouring all the frustration he felt it into his explanation. 

“I hate living alone too. It's the wolf, pack compulsion, and I miss you all the time,” Derek admitted. 

Stiles looked up, Derek’s expression said a lot more than his words. He probably knew why Stiles was really upset. Stiles was sure Derek listened to the conversation his dad and Laura had just the same. “That was a pretty smooth line. I’m thinking maybe you want me to move in to your place?” Stiles drawled sarcastically.

“I want you to.” Derek used the matter of fact voice. The problem solving, negotiating voice that meant it was the truth, plain and simple. "The sarcasm really sells it though," Derek smiled. 

“For how long? Why don’t you say so?” Stiles asked. 

“Because I don't know how to start conversations like that. Do I just throw it at you unexpectedly? There's got to be a better way, don't you think?” Derek asked. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Stiles agreed. "Probably not though." 

“I don't have any idea what I'm doing but I’m not going to make it all about what I want. I can try to have a little finesse,” Derek smiled, stealing a couple of Stiles’ tortilla chips. 

“I love you, you know that?” Stiles turned his take out container so Derek could reach the chips. 

“I do. I feel the same. That’s why I’m willing to put up with all your gross, weird stuff all over my awesome loft,” Derek said before stealing most of his chips. 

“You've really thought about it?” Stiles asked. Derek nodded, his mouth full of chips. Stiles grinned, happy and excited by the prospect. 

“What are you going to tell your dad?” Derek asked. 

“The truth." 

It was the only thing he could do, and he wasn't going to worry about coming up with a plan first. He wasn’t going to worry about justifying his choices either. His dad would just have to accept whatever Stiles decided to explain to him. 


	14. This Isn't Crossroads

“Like you said, you don’t have to go to college or anything like that if you’re happy where you are,” Derek assured him.

“He was so pissed though,” Stiles said, rubbing his eyes like it might help remove the disappointment that was starting to feel like a permanent part of him.

“He expects too much,” Derek said quietly, his eyes fixed on the road ahead of him. He was obviously just as frustrated as Stiles was.

“...I just don't know why.” Stiles took a deep breath and let it out slow before he said more damning things he might regret. “Stop here,” he asked abruptly, pointing to the Sonic they were about to pass. Derek made a quick turned and pulled into the parking lot. “My mom wanted a quiet life," Stiles continued. "So did he, that’s why he married her. I don't understand why I have to accomplish so much more to not be a disappointment."

"You shouldn't have to. You work hard, you take care of yourself, that should be enough," Derek agreed.

"On top of the principle of the thing, half of Beacon County thought I was a derailed serial killer for a week. People don’t forget that shit easy. I just want to live quiet until they do, or move really far away.”

“As the resident zombie of Beacon County, I like both of those plans,” Derek agreed. “Why are we here?” he asked, nodding to the fast food restaurant.

“Jackson's here, and he’s upset,” Stiles sighed. He hated the supernaturally heightened empathy bullshit with a fiery passion. They day before Jackson mentioned going to visit Peter, at least he had some clue what he was walking into. It probably wasn’t going to end well, but Stiles couldn’t ignore it. Jackson’s misery was like a rolling cloud of blackness covering his thoughts and something about it the situation made Stiles feel responsible for it. Mostly because he was sure he could fix it. “We can make him feel better,” Stile explained.

“We want to make Jackson feel better?” Derek asked.

“We have to, he's family.” Stiles reminded him. Derek's lips went tight like he disapproved, but he nodded, moving to get out of the car.

Derek was still on the fence about Jackson. He wouldn’t tell any of them why his eyes were blue, not even Boyd. They could all sense how guilty he felt about it, they all assured him they would keep his secrets like he kept theirs, but he refused to share. Laura said it was unfair to hold it against him until they knew more. Stiles agreed. Jackson wasn’t a killer, he was just a douchebag.

Inside the Sonic, Jackson was sitting with Danny Mehealani. He was pushing fries around on a tray listlessly, his face splotchy and red like he had been crying. As soon as he saw Stiles and Derek he started talking, trying to get rid of Danny. They walked through the restaurant without acknowledging him because Jackson obviously didn’t want them to. Danny didn’t see Stiles, and he was gone by the time he and Derek had their own trays of food. Jackson nodded, acknowledging their presence silently as they slid into the bench seat across from him.

“Hey Stilinski.” Jackson gave him another nod, not bothering to greet Derek. Jackson understood how little Derek wanted to do with him and miraculously, he didn't push it.

“Jackson,” Stiles nodded. He scooped up a handful of fries and shoved them in his mouth, chewing a few times before he took a big swig of his raspberry cooler. “Peter didn’t go too well?” he asked.

“No." Jackson muttered, glancing up at Derek uncomfortably.

"Spill, Derek's more invested in Peter than both of us," Stiles reminded him.

"It was just--" Jackson stopped and looked up at both of them, probably realizing he couldn't lie to them, not really. "The nurse got bitchy with me for talking to him,” Jackson muttered.

“What?” Derek asked. “Were you rude or something?”

“No," Jackson snapped. He looked just as outraged as Derek looked for a moment, but his expression softened when he realized Derek really was interested. "I just was telling him about me is all. Lydia said talking to him is good, so I thought--” Jackson’s voice pitched with emotion and he took a deep breath. His cheeks went red and his eyes glassed over, but he didn't cry, miraculously.

“She told you not to talk to him?” Derek asked darkly. Jackson nodded without looking up. He was telling the truth. Whatever reason the nurse had probably wasn't worth the shit Derek looked like he was willing to bring down on them. “I’m sorry that happened Jackson. I’m going to make sure it never happens again. Next time you say whatever you want to him,” Derek promised.

Jackson looked up at Derek like he was stunned. He nodded, which was probably as close to a thank you as Jackson was going to get. Sudden emotion overwhelmed Jackson and he flexed his jaw like he was trying desperately to control himself. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was because of them, or the fact they were in a fast food restaurant.

“Repress yourself all you want, we feel it all anyways.” Stiles was tired of watching him struggle so hard to put on a brave face, it was exhausting.

“What does that mean?” Jackson asked. He looked terrified, and momentarily distracted from his emotional constipation.

“You’re fucking miserable and it’s making me miserable. Empathy, you know how that works?"

"It's a pack thing Jackson, for survival," Derek explained.

“I’m not--” Jackson scowled, embarrassed and upset again, but for different reasons.

"Yeah you are because you want to belong to Laura and we're part of the package," Stiles pointed out. "Personally, I'm over this second hand bullshit. It’s like getting kicked in the chest by misery. I’m not a fan of suffering through your internal rollercoaster."

“He means crying in three second bursts doesn’t count,” Derek continued to explain a little more diplomatically. “It probably makes it worse actually.”

“How?” Jackson asked. "I mean, how much do you feel?" he clarified nervously.

“Can’t you sense anything?” Stiles asked, gesturing to both he and Derek.

“No,” Jackson shook his head.

“Well that explains a lot,” Stiles glanced over to Derek to commiserate. He was busy tapping a message into his phone.

“Am I supposed to, or...?” Jackson asked.

“Peter wasn't well connected either,” Derek said quietly.

“What about my mom?" Jackson asked.

“No one knew your mom well enough,” Derek said. 

“I thought my mother died, but--Peter knew her though. Weren’t you guys friends?” Jackson asked. 

“Things were complicated. My mom took his memories for some reason. We’ll never know why, but I know none of us knew your mother, or why she suddenly showed up in town. She had no connection to our pack. She was human,” Derek answered. 

“What does that mean, she took Peter’s memories?” Jackson asked. 

“It’s something alpha’s can do,” Derek explained, leaving it at that. 

“This is freaking me the fuck out,” Jackson hissed unhappily. “Please tell me you guys can’t actually get inside my head,” he whispered. 

“Jackson, you think stifling insecurity and manpain is interesting enough for me to want to take a walk through your head?” Stiles scoffed. “There is nothing hidden away in your brain I want to know enough to drown in that shallow puddle of bullshit.” 

The overwhelming stench of anxiety and shock suddenly rolled across the table toward Stiles. He could smell it and feel it but it didn't make any sense, and it was annoying as hell. He dropped his hamburger dramatically, about to say something snarky to break the tension when he looked up and realized at least half of the anxiety was actually coming from Derek. Both he and Jackson were looking at their plates, purposefully avoiding him, and the questions he suddenly had. Jackson did know something he thought Stiles would want to know, Derek agreed apparently, and both of them were afraid he would be incredibly pissed when he found out. 

“Stiles, we should go,” Derek said abruptly. 

“Why?” Stiles demanded. “What have you guys been talking about?” 

“Nothing, I haven’t talked to Derek,” Jackson denied sharply. 

Derek fixed his eyes on Jackson, giving him a look that would curdle anyone where they stood. Jackson responded appropriately, hanging his head low. Guilt clung to Jackson like a shroud. There was only one thing in Stiles life that had enough sway to worry people the way Derek was worried. Stiles had seen the same expression on everyone’s faces for years. 

“Is this about the school thing?” Stiles asked, testing them both. Derek dragged a hand over his chin and shook his head, not looking at Stiles. Jackson dragged an old, stale fry through his ketchup but didn't eat it. “Maybe it’s about Lydia?” Stiles pressed, hoping to get a reaction out of Jackson. Anything that might trip him up. 

He wasn’t prepared for the reaction he got. Jackson went stone faced and silent, but he reeked of fear and anxiety. The kind of fear that people felt when a life was on the line. Jackson looked up at him and shook his head, his expression cold and disaffected. “It has nothing to do with Lydia,” he lied. 

It had everything to do with Lydia, obviously. Jackson was protecting her like he was afraid Stiles might hurt her, which was absurd. The fact that Jackson believed Stiles would hurt her, that she needed that kind of protection from him, opened up the door to all the bullshit he had packed away when he tried to move on from being accused of planning to do a lot worse. 

“I’m not--I would never hurt Lydia,” Stiles said quietly. 

None of it mattered anymore. Stiles was a different person, so was Lydia. They had all changed so much. He didn't want to think about why Jackson believed that. Stiles wanted to turn his brain off and not drag all the facts and theories he had through his head until he came to the obvious conclusion. Unfortunately the path was so easily laid out for him because evidence had been piling up for years. Stiles just wanted so desperately to ignore it because Lydia was his friend. Lydia was the one who made it all stop. She made his life so much better because she was such a good person. Lydia was the best person Stiles knew. 

Salvation, kindness, beauty and unstoppable determination, that was how Stiles saw Lydia. Before the accusations she had always been nice to him. Sometimes she ignored him, but he was obnoxious. It was the nicest thing she could do in the situation. The fact that she was a banshee, that what she pretended was mono happened their junior year didn’t mean anything. She didn't say when she started having prophetic dreams about death. She couldn’t have seen anything. Lydia would have come to him first, they weren't friends back then, but she would have. 

“Stiles, are you okay?” Derek asked. 

“How do you know?” Stiles demanded abruptly. 

Derek hesitated, but Stiles could tell he was going to talk. Derek turned toward him and leaned back against the window sill, like he was about to say a lot. “Do you remember what I told you about banshee?” he asked. 

“How do you know?” Stiles pressed. 

“She’s the only one who could have known what you were going to do. Even you didn't know what you were going to do,” Derek said quietly. “We shouldn’t be talking about this here.” 

“I would never.” Stiles held up his hand, stopping Derek, then grabbed his wrist. His insides churned with anxiety and panic. Derek believed it was true, he believed something different than everyone else did, but it was the same in the end. “I never would have--you can't believe that. All those people, I--” 

“It was just me,” Jackson said. “She only saw me.” 

Part of Stiles wanted to believe Jackson was lying to hurt him, back to his old tricks. Being a bully and saying whatever he could to hurt Stiles because that was how Jackson coped, but Jackson wasn't lying. It wasn't even a hunch. The proof was right in front of him, Jackson’s clear, apologetic expression looking back at Stiles like he hadn't spent years making Stiles’ life a living hell. For what? Because he was a hormonal asshole who liked Jackson’s girlfriend. Stiles wanted nothing more than to hurt him, badly, and now he could. 

It wasn’t the first time he wanted to hurt Jackson. Not just prank him and destroy his stuff, because he could always just buy new stuff, but really make him pay. His rage was justified because the abuse Jackson doled out was cumulative and damaging. But back then there was nothing good in his life except Scott. Lydia avoided him, probably hoping Jackson would stop if she did, but he didn’t. He kept up the abuse and Stiles kept on planning more devastating, painful retributions. 

Now if he did anything Laura would make him pay. As long as he didn't kill Jackson, the punishment would probably be worth it. Back then though, they dragged him in for questioning. He was grilled for hours by an FBI profiler. Somewhere in the search for a suitable lawyer, the local news broke the story. By the time he was out, everyone knew. They all knew false, outrageous lies though, like how he had hidden a semi automatic weapon on school grounds. Stiles didn’t go to school for a weeks to avoid the chaos. He planned to finish his education online, or just skip it and go to college far away. 

Then Lydia showed up and asked him to come back. She broke up with Jackson and wasn’t shy about letting people know it was because he bullied Stiles and took it too far. She picked him up and drove him to school, always sat with him and Scott at lunch. She checked in with him during the day, and took him home early when he couldn’t handle the bullshit people said. Slowly it all went away, the rumors, the vitriol. No one had anything to say about it to his face anymore. 

If it was true it meant Lydia wasn't really his friend. Maybe she only did what she did because she was afraid of him too. “She saw it. She saw me do it,” Stiles repeated out loud, unsure how to reconcile who he knew he was with what he was obviously capable of. 

“It’s not perfect Stiles, she changed things when she turned you in. You have no idea what Jackson could have done to push you that far. All she saw was the consequence, she--” Derek tried to explain. 

“She turned me in,” Stiles repeated, letting that fact sink in. His mind had danced around it, glossed over it, but never really grabbed on with both hands. 

“She didn't have a choice Stiles, how else could she have fixed it? She saved you and Jackson both. She saved your lives.” Derek reached out for him. Stiles flinched and pulled away, unwilling to be touched. 

The pain in Derek’s eyes was too real, it clawed at Stiles and guilt welled up inside him. They forgave him, loved him in spite of knowing. Derek had figured it all out a long time ago. Then Stiles remembered, Derek’s eyes were blue, so were Jacksons. Of course they forgave him. They had actually done it. They had killed people. He was safe in the company of murderers, they understood words like extenuating circumstances and vengeance. 

Panic welled up in his gut, flooded his chest, made his heart beat hard. If he was capable before, and now he was part animal like they were, maybe he was just like them. Maybe murdering someone was more of an inevitability than a nightmare. The only person who could tell him the truth was Scott. He would know, and Stiles could talk to Scott. He was there through all of it, and he knew what was going on now. There was nothing stopping him from finding out right then, so Stiles got up and ran out the door. 

The heat from the summer sun beat down on Stiles unmercifully as he ran. He was moving too fast, someone would notice. He headed toward the high school, through the forest park around it. Scott was just on the other side. Stiles would be safe running there. No one came outside at midday in the middle of a heat wave. As soon as he broke through the tree line Stiles picked up speed, running as fast as he could through the dense forest. Scott would tell him the truth. 

Since they were too little to remember Scott had been there. No one knew Stiles better. Scott told him all the time he was better than retribution, better than revenge. It was Scott’s idea to prank Jackson and turn it into a game. He always knew what to do and what to say. Not about everything, but about Jackson, Lydia, and the whole mess they had made of themselves. It didn’t matter if they weren’t kids anymore, or how much things had changed. Scott had faith in him, and no one got that kind of faith unless they deserved it. 

The sound of footsteps behind Stiles distracted him for a moment. He was about to turn and look over his shoulder when something slammed into his back and pinned him against a tree. Jackson’s fist dug into his back painfully, then let him go. Stiles stumbled and rolled to the ground, stunned when hands grabbed his arms and twisted, holding him down, pinning him to the ground. It was a familiar position. Jackson wasn't very original, or very cautious. 

Unfortunately for Jackson Stiles wasn’t the same person anymore, not even remotely. Stiles twisted out of his grip and punched Jackson in the face hard enough to throw him back. Jackson pushed himself up off the ground, his eyes blazing electric blue. The salty, coppery scent of blood filled the air as Jackson spit a mouthful on the ground and climbed to his feet. Jackson wanted to fight, but Stiles wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. He turned and tried to run, but Jackson somehow ended up in front of him. He pushed Stiles, throwing him back on the ground again. 

Smarter and faster, Jackson didn’t try to restrain him. Instead he played an infuriating game of cat and mouse, cutting Stiles off and pushing him down until Stiles lunged and punched Jackson in the chest. Ribs cracked and caved under Stiles’ hand. Jackson’s eyes went wide as he stumbled to the ground, gasping like he was drowning. Blood pooled and sputtered out of his mouth turning the gasp into a sick, deadly sounding gargle. His eyes were frantic and terrified as he clawed at his chest, trying desperately to breathe. Stiles didn’t mean to hurt him like that, there was no satisfaction on it, only the sick feeling that he had done something very wrong. 

Stiles reminded himself Jackson would heal as he dropped to the ground next to him. He turned Jackson over on his side to let the blood pour out of his mouth. Jackson coughed, wet and shallow, barely able to take a breath until his ribs cracked and popped back into place. The pain left him trembling and pale, terrified and clutching at his chest still. Stiles couldn’t watch him suffer like that. It made him feel sick to his stomach doing nothing. 

Burning, searing stripes of black coursed up his arm like the pain wanted to make Stiles pay. Maybe it did. The weak, rough sensations in his own chest were like punishment, empathy for the pain he caused. Jackson drew in a sharp breath and relaxed, finally taking in a clear breath. Suddenly aware of more than just panic and pain, Jackson’s eyes fell on Stiles arm. He watched the black veins move across his skin curiously for a moment, like he didn't quite understand what was happening. Jackson cringed and pulled away. 

Unwilling to put up with any of his shit, Stiles grabbed at his shoulder, holding him firmly as his body finished healing. “I fucked you up a lot more than I intended to,” Stiles said harshly. 

Oddly his tone of voice seemed to help. Jackson relaxed under his hand. Jackson started to sit up, He let Stiles help him without protest. “How much did you intend to fuck me up Stilinski?” Jackson asked. 

“Not this much.” It was as good of an apology as Jackson was going to get. 

“I’m okay, just--” 

“Fine,” Stiles let his shoulder go and climbed to his feet. He held his hand out to help Jackson up and Jackson surprised him by taking it. He stumbled a little and cringed when he stood, like he wasn't totally healed. “You okay?” 

“I will be. Laura says the blue eyes means you don't heal as fast,” Jackson explained. Stiles nodded and reached out for him again. Jackson waved him off and leaned against a tree instead. He looked bad, but he was getting better. “It was Lydia, when I hurt her, she died.”

Unsure what Jackson meant for a moment, Stiles realized he meant that was how he got the blue eyes. “But she lived,” Stiles argued. 

“She was dead for a while. Long enough for me to call the police and turn myself in. Then she just wasn’t,” Jackson explained. “I didn’t mean to, but then she came back and I thought maybe I made her like us.”

“There’s no alphas in the stories.” That was how Stiles could tell the difference between fairy tales and something that might be more online. If the writer knew words like alpha and beta. “What happened?” 

“She had something like a shadow over her, and her eyes were black, like ink. We were out here actually, not far from here. I carried her to the car and took her to the hospital.” Jackson folded his arms across his chest and stood up straight. “The hospital admitted me for a psych eval and finally decided I was traumatized, hallucinating, you know.” 

“Pretty typical,” Stiles shrugged, familiar with how people justified what they didn’t understand. “If she lived though...?” 

“Did she? She’s not the same,” Jackson said quietly. 

“Yes she is. She’s more herself now than she ever was before. You were just too stupid to know she was lying to you,” Stiles scoffed. 

“That what she said, but I thought it was me. I still do, a little,” Jackson admitted. “She’s connected to me now, sorta like you described in there. I can feel her, but not you guys.” 

“Maybe that’s why,” Stiles suggested. “Maybe your mom was like Lydia too. That would make sense about Peter, why he changed--” Stiles stopped talking when he glanced up at Jackson. What he was suggesting was theory to him, but Jackson had a look of desperation on his face, like he might start crying again. “I’m sorry, I was just thinking out loud, I didn’t--” 

“No, you think that’s real? He wasn't just a bad guy?” Jackson asked. 

“No one ever said Peter was a bad guy. He had problems, but no one ever said he was bad.” Stiles was shocked that’s what Jackson came away with, but he wasn't that good at understanding the finer points of familial interaction. “Derek and Laura are telling you the truth as they see it. They aren't trying to make you think anything about Peter. They want you to have your own opinion. Maybe you expect them to talk Peter up and make him look good like other people might, but they aren't like that,” Stiles explained. 

“Oh,” Jackson said. The hand he scrubbed over his face proved Jackson thought they were telling him the bad things so he wouldn't like Peter, playing games and trying to manipulate him like his own strange, waspy family. “I’m sorry Stiles, for everything,” Jackson blurted out abruptly. 

Stiles wanted to take a step back, or maybe run away, but he knew now Jackson could catch him, so there was no point in trying.

“It was my fault, not yours,” Jackson continued in a painfully earnest voice. “Whatever Lydia saw, however it went down, it was me, not you.” 

Overbearing waves of emotion assaulted Stiles. It was too much, after everything that had already happened. All Jackson wanted in the world was was to take all responsibility, and the punishment. It was nothing like Stiles imagined. His daydreams were satisfying, vindicating and heroic, but Jackson was broken and lost and Stiles could feel it too acutely to consider it any kind of win. 

“Do you want to make it up to me?” Stiles asked, hoping to fix things for both of them, a little, hopefully. . 

“Could I? I mean--” Jackson shook his head, his eyes dropping to the ground as he struggled with the concept he could possibly be forgiven. 

“Yeah, you can, probably a little too easily,” Stiles offered. “Listen to Derek. Love Laura even when she fucks shit up because she will. Stop torturing yourself and be a Hale. Change your name, get the fucking tattoo, claim your trust fund and stop fucking around with them.” 

“Is that all?” Jackson scoffed, his eyes wide at the list of demands. 

“No, move back here and go to Berkeley so Laura can live with you and take care of you like you both really want. If you don’t she’s going to keep taking it out on us and I want some fucking space.” 

“I don't want to live with Laura,” Jackson said, but it was such a blatant lie Stiles laughed. 

“I know she’s even more rough than you are, and her offer sounded a little like she was trying to sell you a grocery club membership, but she wants to smother with love you until you hate her for it and I want you to let her,” Stiles demanded. 

“Why would you ask me to do that? She almost killed you. She told me. She changed you against your will,” Jackson asked. 

“No she didn’t. She did what she was supposed to do. I was always going to be this, I just didn’t know it.” Stiles took a deep breath and asked himself why he was even trying to defend Laura. They were his terms and Jackson could live up to them, or not. 

“Laura said it was your mom, she--” Jackson’s voice was suddenly too small and vulnerable. Moms were a soft spot for him, they always had been.

“She and your aunt Talia were friends. I think Talia told her everything before she died because she knew somehow I had what my mom had. I think she offered to changed me when I got older and my mom said yes.” Stiles poured it all out, explained it as short and sweet as he could. 

“Then you had to. You were never going to say no.” Jackson rushed to agree with him, understanding full well the gravity of a mother’s dying wish. “Are you sure though?” he asked. “I mean Talia died with everyone else.” 

“Laura knows everything. Things she would only know if her mom told her on purpose. It was a plan, one Talia was invested enough in to tell Laura, just in case. A plan she had no reason to make unless my mom wanted it.” 

“But was she all there when she agreed?” Jackson asked. It was the most obvious question. 

“I think she was. Talia probably knew my mom was sick a long time before she actually got sick.” 

“You think Talia told her?” Jackson asked. He relaxed against the tree he was leaning on and waited for Stiles’ answer like he was invested in knowing. He had reasons to be, but it was still a bit surreal. 

“I do,” Stiles admitted. “I don't know why she didn’t change herself, but I don’t know how it happened.” 

“You were really little, she couldn't have.” Jackson rushed to his mother’s defense even though Stiles didn't need him to. He didn't blame his mom for anything. “She might have killed you, or worse, died a lot sooner from the change. She did what was best for you, not for her.” 

“I figured,” Stiles nodded, smiling a little at Jackson’s mildly terrifying mommy issues. “I knew whatever happened she did what she thought was best.” 

“She probably used the time she had left pretty good then, at least you got that.” Jackson shuffled uncomfortably, painfully aware of how cheated he was. Everyone who might have loved him was so close, but just out of reach his whole life. 

“She did. She spent all her time with me, taught me everything I should and probably shouldn’t have known. She treated me like I mattered, all the time. Even at the end when she didn't know who I was, she found ways.” Stiles shook his head in complete disbelief that he was telling Jackson these things and not Derek. “When I thought she was just rambling from the dementia she kept warning me about wolf men and the sunrise.” 

“That’s weird, but you said Talia told her, right?” Jackson asked. 

“Yeah, but you know how when I was recovering, Deaton, the wolfsbane?” 

“Right,” Jackson nodded.

“They put it on a bandage that was taped to my chest. When I pulled it up the bandage looked like a sunrise, with the yellow wolfsbane and the blood.” 

“Dude,” Jackson laughed softly. “I might think that was weird if my girlfriend hadn't been sending me out to chase down prophetic dreams for the last three years.”

“She has?” 

“Seems like every chance she gets, but you know, seeing that stuff come true just like she says it. That changes things. But you were obviously smart enough to listen.” Jackson nodded in his direction, the fact that he was alive still was proof he had. “Laura said you still write poetry. I remember from the school magazine they did every year.”

“Not as much as I should probably,” Stiles admitted. 

“There was one that was really cool. Falling like the red sun, she goes off like a shotgun? Was that about her, wasn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” Stiles answered. “That was the first version. How do you remember that?” 

“It was good. I liked it. The red sun thing. I tried to talk to you about it but you thought I was being a dick,” Jackson shrugged. “You remember it?” 

“What, you want me to recite it right here?” Stiles laughed. Jackson shuffled uncomfortably, looking more than a little embarrassed. “She’s falling like the red sun, she goes off like a shotgun. My world comes undone. So pick up the pieces. She’s falling like the rain and sun,” Stiles recited it from memory. He had reworked it a hundred times, but it always ended up about the same. “Everyone thought it was about Lydia,” Stiles reminded him. 

“Red sun, red hair. You liked her. It wasn't much of a leap. I knew it was about your mom though,” Jackson assured him, shrugging like it didn't matter anymore. 

Jackson had tipped too much of his hand though. He had been paying attention, maybe even liked Stiles at one point or another. He wondered if part of it was his fault, if Jackson tried and Stiles assumed the worst and acted like a dick. Jackson didn't know how to handle rejection gracefully. He would have lashed out. It was surreal wondering if two asshole kids with bad social skills could escalate things as far as they did, how anyone survived childhood. 

Footsteps alerted both of them. They turned to see Derek, purposefully making a little noise as he made his way slowly through the trees. “Laura called. She’s worried,” Derek muttered unhappily. 

“I’ll call her,” Jackson volunteered. He jumped to pull his phone out, walking away a few feet to pretend he had some privacy. 

“I waited, over there until it sounded like you guys were done talking.” Derek gave Stiles a hard, unforgiving look as he gestured back at the dense trees he came through. 

“I’m sorry I ran,” Stiles apologized. Derek raised his eyebrows and shrugged, still upset obviously. “I’m sorry for freaking you out. That wasn't the point.” 

“I thought--” Derek stammered over the words, proving just how upset he still was. 

“I wasn't running away. I was going to Scott’s house,” Stiles promised. 

“That’s what Jackson said.” Derek sighed, quiet and relieved. “How did he catch up with you,” he asked. 

“He’s fragile, but he’s fast. I think I almost killed him when he caught me,” Stiles admitted. 

“I smell the blood,” Derek said. “Is he okay?” 

“Yeah. We talked, negotiated actually.” 

“I heard,” Derek nodded as he looked over at Jackson, who was talking to Laura. He was smiling and pacing around aimlessly. “He really likes talking to her, which is some kind of miracle. Laura isn’t easy to talk to.” 

“She is if you really want her to like you,” Stiles pointed out. 

“Yeah, I don't have that problem,” Derek laughed. 

“You’re such a dick,” Stiles whispered. He leaned in and kissed Derek quickly on the side of the mouth. Derek caught him by the waist and pulled him close, kissing Stiles enthusiastically. 

"No, he's busy making out with Stiles," Jackson said to Laura a little louder than he needed to. 

“Fuck off, Jackson,” Stiles hissed. Jackson raised his middle finger, making it clear exactly what he thought about watching them make out. "He told me about his eyes,” Stiles said to Derek quietly. “It's nothing like what you thought it might be.” 

Derek twisted his mouth unhappily. He didn't ask what it was Jackson had done, he took Stiles at his word, for now. 

“Hey, she wants to talk to you” Jackson said, dropping the phone from his ear. 

Derek held out his hand and took the phone. "Hey, they're fine." Jackson walked toward Stiles even though his eyes were fixed on Derek and his phone. "Why don't we come by? I don't think Jackson has any plans." Derek looked to Jackson, who shook his head. He didn't. "We'll be there in a few minutes, okay?" 

Whatever Laura said was good enough to change Derek’s whole demeanor. Stiles wished he had listened in, but he was trying to be more polite according to the new rules. Derek handed Jackson his phone back and reached out to touch the shoulder of Jackson's shirt because it was covered in blood. 

“You should take that off,” Derek suggested. “We still have to get back to the car, unless you want me to come pick you up?” 

“No, I’m okay,” Jackson assured him. He pulled the shirt over his head and used it to wipe his face before folding it up and stuffing it in his back pocket like it was just too hot to bother with. “I don't look like I just got the shit kicked out of me, right?” Jackson grinned. 

"You're chest is still bruised," Derek pointed out. The ugly, yellowish green was spreading slowly out over Jackson’s chest still. 

"It'll be fine by the time we get out there," Jackson shrugged. 

“Probably not,” Derek argued. He grabbed the side of Jackson's neck and drew away the lingering pain. 

Then Derek surprised both Stiles and Jackson by pulling him close to give Jackson a hug. Jackson glanced at Stiles like he might be able to make it stop, but Stiles just shrugged like he had no idea. Derek was doing what he was taught to do, take care of his pack when they were hurt. Eventually Jackson relaxed a little and hugged Derek back. Stiles wanted to laugh at how terrified Jackson looked for a minute, and he might have if the whole thing wasn't just sad. 

“Better?” Derek asked, letting go to get a good look at Jackson. The bruise was still there but it was faded and hard to see. Derek swiped at it ineffectually, like he was unhappy it wasn't totally gone. “You sure you’re okay?” Derek asked again. 

“Yeah,” Jackson shrugged. He looked up at both of them like he expected them to accept that answer. When neither of them reacted Jackson sighed, frustrated, and held up his hands. “Okay, no, I’m not okay, but what are either of you going to do about it right now?” 

"Not enough,” Derek said gruffly. He threw an arm over Jackson’s shoulder and started walking back toward the road, dragging Jackson with him. “Thanks for telling Stiles,” Derek added, gesturing to his eyes. 

“I--uh--I probably should have a while ago,” Jackson admitted. He kept up with Derek, but he looked painfully uncomfortable. Stiles couldn't help but smile. 

It was an oddly fitting retribution, watching Derek ruin Jackson’s life with just a little bit of familial affection. Stiles silently hoped it took ages for Jackson to warm up to him. He could stand to watch Jackson be awkwardly silent and hilariously uncomfortable for a very long time. 

“You gonna stick around and live with Laura?” Derek asked. 

“Do you really want me around?” Jackson asked. He gave Stiles another horrified glance as they walked, his expression falling like he was abysmally lost when he saw the amused grin on Stiles’ face. 

“Now I do,” Derek answered. 

“I’m--” Jackson stuttered. “I’m not that great to be around,” Jackson admitted. 

“That doesn't really matter,” Derek laughed. He stopped just inside the tree line. The cars were driving by on the street not that far away, but no one could see them behind the wall of forest. “You remind me of them you know?” Derek said as he let his arm slide away, releasing Jackson from the awkward embrace.

“The Hale’s?” Jackson asked. 

“You’re definitely Peter’s son,” Derek smiled like it was some kind of inside joke. “You laugh like my mom, but you smile like Peter. You’re fast like he was.”

“Really? I remember his picture in the trophy case at school,” Jackson said hopefully. 

“He played basketball and ran track and field,” Derek smiled. “You know Laura adores you, and it doesn’t matter if we want you around or not, we need you. Peter especially.” 

Derek’s words were rough and plainly spoken, maybe too plain for Jackson. He looked lost and devastated. He definitely didn't know how to respond. Unconditional love, need and family were all such elusive ideas to Jackson, he hadn't even begun to make room for the reality of them. 

“C’mon, you look like you’re about to puke,” Derek put his arm around Jackson again and lead them out to the street. Jackson plodded along like it was a death march, but he was leaning against Derek like he had no desire to be anywhere else. 

“You'll be fine," Derek assured Jackson. "We all will."


	15. Good Friends Keep Enemies At Bay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All poetry provided by the lyrical genius of the Portland band Priory. https://youtu.be/rjRGLX1VWXU

“That’s the last of it.” Boyd dropped the box of books on the floor in the corner of the loft. 

“Thanks man, I really appreciate the help, especially on your day off,” Stiles said. 

“Are you going to unpack right now?” Boyd asked. 

“No, I was going to veg out on the couch and eat a copious amount of ice cream before I tackle that mess," Stiles laughed. "You wanna hang out a while?” 

“Only if you don’t mind me picking your brain about my wedding vows,” Boyd asked. "It's pretty much the only thing on my mind." 

“I’m--uh, you sure you want me getting close to those?” Stiles laughed. 

“If you’re not up for it, I don't mind, but you’re the word smith.” Boyd was serious, giving Stiles the chance to respectfully bow out, but that was absurd. 

“Dude, I’ll try, but fair warning: I write poetry about how miserable I am. Subsequently, I haven’t written in a while. So I'm not sure if I’m really your guy.”

“I have no idea what I’m doing. The last thing I wrote rhymed,” Boyd admitted. 

“That’s--um, it’s not terrible but you probably don't want your vows to sound abstract, like poetry?” Stiles asked. 

“See, that’s what I mean. You know this stuff,” Boyd pointed out. 

“True, sit. We’ll eat, then think.” Stiles motioned toward the couch. 

A few minutes later Boyd’s ice cream was melting in the bowl and he was pacing as he talked about what he had come up with so far. 

“I like her face, and I like her--I can't talk about anything other than her face because that might be rude...” Boyd looked at him for confirmation and Stiles shook his head. Mentioning how much he liked Erica’s ass might impress Erica, but it would make for an awkward rewatch for the kids. “I wanted to talk about the wolf thing, how she persevered through that, but I don't know how to do it without saying it outright.” 

“Talk about her strength of character, and the perseverance. She’ll know what you mean and everyone else will assign meaning of their own. That's how words work,” Stiles assured him. 

“Carefully worded isn't the same as abstract, is it?” Boyd asked, finally sitting down and picking up his bowl. 

“Not at all. Abstract is like talking about the birds and sky when you mean Erica. Talking directly to her about private things in front of a bunch of people is just strategic filtering. Hold on, Let me get my notebook,” Stiles said. 

It felt wrong for it to not be in his pocket, but he hadn’t written in so long he stopped carrying it. It was little more than a reminder of how he wasn’t doing the thing that motivated him passionately for years, but he lost his voice. Now it didn’t matter, he was speaking for Boyd, not himself. 

“List them off, all the important things to you and Erica, then we’ll make some beautiful promises. Go.” Stiles pointed the pencil at him and waited. 

“Love, family, pack, health, happiness, and security,” Boyd said without faltering. 

“Jesus dude, what are the rest of us going to do with ourselves if you’re having trouble?” 

“I know what’s important to me, I just don't know how to say it pretty.” 

“I have the opposite problem with life, my friend,” Stiles grinned, but Boyd didn't laugh or smile back. Stiles let it roll off, he was trying to get in the zone. “You have to make her laugh, even if it’s just cute. She needs to laugh at least once.” 

“Agreed,” Boyd said, leaning forward to look over his shoulder. 

“What about promising to be her accomplice in life? like criminals. That’s pretty fucking cute,” Stiles suggested. 

“That’s great. I never would have come up with that.” Boyd grinned, already pleased. 

“Well, maybe not then, you want it to sound like you, right?” 

“No, I want it to be spectacular. I don't say shit I don't mean, so anything I say is gonna sound like me,” Boyd promised. 

“Fair enough. Next why don't you say you promise to run with her, that’ll sound like it’s kind of part of the accomplice thing, but it really covers the pack part.” 

“Yes, I want to promise to be a good father for our kids. Just straightforward, if it fits.” 

“Sure it will.” Stiles wrote down that line next, liking how it sounded already. “You need to be romantic as hell though. This is Erica.” 

“I had an idea before. Promising to do the easy things, like notice how gorgeous she is everyday. Then promise to do the more difficult things, like be a good father,” Boyd said. 

“Yes, you should have led with that. That’s fucking beautiful.” Stiles wrote both of those things down on the other side of the paper and drew a line down the middle. 

They listed off the rest of the vows and put them into easy and difficult columns. All it needed was a little organization for flow, then Boyd recited it all out loud. When he was done he smiled triumphantly and sat back in his seat, Stiles’ notebook clenched in his hand. 

“This is amazing. I freak the hell out over this shit for weeks and you hammer it out in a half hour on a sugar high,” Boyd marveled. 

“You did most of the work, you just needed someone to bounce the idea’s off of. Everyone needs that, even professionals,” Stiles pointed out. 

“Yeah? What about you then? Why don't you write anymore?” Boyd asked. 

“Um,” Stiles faltered. He had trapped himself. He had to answer or it would ruin the good thing he and Boyd had done. No one had come right out and asked him about his writing, but Erica had mentioned more than once how she missed his gnawed on little notebook. “Like I said, I wrote about being miserable and I’m not now. That’s a good thing I guess.” 

Stiles took his shot, but Boyd wasn't biting. “That sounds like a load of shit to me. You were excited to write my vows, that’s either some kinda desperation, or a hidden romantic streak no one has ever seen before.” 

“I love you guys, it was a labor of love,” Stiles insisted. 

“Well, let me return the favor,” Boyd said, opening his notebook to the middle. He read a few lines as Stiles debated with whether or not to stop him, but he had let Boyd read his poetry before. “This is something, all or nothing. They're never gonna find us here?” Boyd asked, his eyebrow raised. “This shit isn't about being miserable, it’s about love.” Boyd turned the page and kept reading before Stiles could say anything. “Love, all love,” Boyd said as he turned the page again. “Love,” Boyd stated, tapping the page in the notebook like he was passing final judgement. 

Stiles scooted back on the couch and folded himself up against the arm, reluctantly facing down Boyd and his judgement. Maybe he was right, but Stiles didn't know what to say about it. 

“I bet I could open this book to any page and most of these would be about love. You write books full of this and you don't have a single, goddamned thing to say about finding the real deal?” Boyd asked. 

“You’re really making me regret helping you,” Stiles smiled bitterly, but Boyd wasn’t going to let Stiles blow him off. He waited patiently for Stiles to answer him. Quiet, unobtrusive Boyd had busted in and torn open his biggest problem because he did care, he was invested. In the pack hierarchy of problem solvers Boyd was probably the last resort. Not because he was bad at it, but because he didn't like to meddle. He was the last ditch effort. The big guns. Stiles wasn’t sure if he had willfully ignored everyone else, or if they hadn't really tried because it was just too hard for him to talk about. Either way he had obviously let it go too far. He had to tell the truth. “I don't feel like I’m good enough to do it justice. Like, what Derek and I have is too big for whatever flowery, trite words I have floating around in my head,” Stiles admitted. 

“These words are not stupid. They’re beautiful. You know how much I love Erica. Do you really think I’d come to you if you sucked?” Boyd asked. 

“I’m not sure what to say to that,” Stiles admitted. He didn't think his writing deserved that kind of praise, but the way Boyd put it saying that out loud would be more insulting to Boyd than Stiles. 

“Say thank you, think about it, then get your head right. I don't care what anyone else says, you got a good thing here and you deserve it,” Boyd assured him, seeing far past what they had said out loud, putting his finger right on the heart of the problem. Stiles didn't really feel like he deserved such a good thing. 

Later that night, when Derek came home from helping Laura and Jackson settle into their new place to find Stiles on the floor with his notebook. Scratching line after line of purplish prose, mostly about how hot Derek was, but it felt good to write again. Sometime after Boyd left, after he forced himself to write a few profound lines, then he realized it didn't matter how good or bad the words were, just like before. He could edit them and reshape them later like he had always done. What mattered was the writing itself. Putting it all down coherently and incoherently. 

“It's cold against our naked skin, scared but we learn to swim? I like that,” Derek dropped to the floor next to him and peered over his shoulder. "What's a paper tiger and why am I not one?" 

“Don’t read that, unfair!” Stiles protested the abuse of his unedited words. 

“It’s about me though, isn’t it?” Derek laughed, kissing his cheek. 

“Maybe...it could be about Jackson,” Stiles deadpanned. 

“Lies, you hate Jackson. Those are love words,” Derek smiled. He pushed Stiles over and pinned him to the floor. “Admit it.” 

“Or what?” Stiles asked defiantly. 

“Or--” Derek climbed over and straddled his hips, grinding against him mercilessly for a very brief moment. “I won’t do that again,” Derek threatened. 

“Oh, god.” Stiles breathed in sharply. “They’re about you, they’re all about you,” he admitted. 

“All of them?” Derek grinned. 

“Well, there were a few that--all the ones that count, yeah,” Stiles smiled. He pushed against Derek's hands on his wrists but he didn't let up. 

“I like being the subject of your poetry.” Derek rolled his body against Stiles’ too quickly before sitting up to pull off his jacket and shirt. “Is there anything in there about this?” Derek asked as he slowly undid his belt buckle. 

“I’m sure if you read between the lines...” Stiles watched Derek push his pants down, intently. The way they stretched across his hips kept them from going all the way down, but the vast expanse of firm, gorgeous skin was more than enough promise of what was about to happen. “I’m reconsidering my rule against explicit poetry right now, this very minute,” Stiles promised. 

“That’s a dumb rule.” Derek slid his hands inside Stiles shirt and pushed it up until it was bunched around his arms. “If all those are about me, I want a lot of them to be explicit. Shamefully explicit.” 

“Are we shamefully explicit people? I mean, sure I wanna be but--"

“You write what you know. Isn’t that the thing writers say?” Derek asked as he pulled Stiles shirt up and over his head. 

“Yeah,” Stiles grinned, liking very much where the conversation was going. 

“I think we have a lot of work to do then.” Derek got up and pushed his pants off the rest of the way, stepping out of them gracefully before he turned to walk toward the day bed in the corner. “Lose the pants,” Derek demanded. 

"Are you ordering me around?" Stiles asked. He picked himself up off the floor and pushed his sweatpants off his hips, trying not to stumble out of them too awkwardly. 

"Yes," Derek answered as he climbed onto the bed. "Between the pack, the fence, and the wedding we've gotten all of five minutes alone together, but you're mine now." 

"Entusistically," Stiles grinned. He started to climb up on the bed next to Derek, but he held his hand up, stopping Stiles.

"First night in the loft alone, you remember the rules we agreed to?" Derek asked. 

"No work, no unpacking, no wedding talk and no plans," Stiles recited. "It sort of sounds like a vacation," he added. 

"Or a honeymoon," Derek smiled. 

"Jesus Christ," Stiles laughed nervously as he climbed up next to a very dangerous looking Derek. "You've been hanging out with Erica too much. I'm not that cool." 

"I thought you were that cool a long time ago," Derek reminded him. "You need to stop talking and come up here so I can finally properly defile you." Derek grinned wickedly. 

"Well, um--" Stiles laughed. "I thought you did that last week?"

"That didn't count." Derek argued. 

"I'm not--no way. No. I haven't been a virgin for a week. No argument. My body, my rules," Stiles protested. He threw himself down unceremoniously on the bed next to Derek. 

"Fine, I thought if we were sticking to antiquated ideals like the mere concept of virginity, you'd have a higher bar than getting your dick sucked on the roof of your dads house." Derek look unreasonably pleased with himself, then turned over like the conversation was finished. 

"Okay, wait a minute.” Stiles shifted until he was right up against Derek’s side. “I take it all back. I think I might like your ideas better,” he admitted. 

“I had a few.” Derek leaned in and kissed him softly, letting his lips linger for a moment before he turned over on his back and dragged Stiles on top of him. “I’ve run out of things I know I’m good at, so it's all theory, but I think they're pretty great.” 

Confused by Derek’s words, Stiles scoffed. “You don’t know if you’re good at sex?” 

Derek smiled softly. "You know, you assume a lot." Nervous arousal clung to Derek’s skin, billowing around them with each quiet breath. Kissing Derek slowly, lazily, having all the time in the world to do as they liked, was a thrilling novelty.

“I know I’m good at things like making your heart beat faster." 

“Yeah.” Stiles groaned as Derek gripped his ass and rocked his hips enticingly. "Are you saying we're finally on even ground?" Stiles slid his hands up Derek's arms and pinned him in place, just like Derek had done to him earlier. 

"We have been for a while," Derek admitted.

"Liar," Stiles grinned. Derek forced him back, kissing him fiercely, his lips soft but insistent as he worked into Stiles' mouth. Derek let out a short, muffled moan. Desire and need rolled off his skin like an enticing cloud of sweetness. Derek liked what Stiles was doing, a lot more than anything else he had ever done. He tightened his grip on Derek's wrists and stretched them both out, covering Derek possessively. Derek's heart hammered in his chest excitedly. Stiles kissed down his neck, dragging his teeth across sensitive skin. He let his tongue linger on the pulse quickening in Derek's neck, pleased with himself for finally pushing just the right buttons. He closed his hand around Derek's jaw and pushed his head the side, exposing his neck completely before he bit down of the soft flesh just under his ear. Derek moaned again and bucked up against him, making it clear he wanted more. 

"Tell me what you want," Stiles asked quietly. He turned Derek to face him, but didn't let go. 

"You're the one who's always making everyone in the room uncomfortable with your explicit daydreams," Derek grinned.

"I do?" Stiles smiled, wondering why no one had ever said anything. "You want to know what I daydream about?"

"Yes." Derek reached between them and adjusted himself, taking the opportunity to stroke Stiles lightly. 

"I fucking hate that blue couch. I've imagined at least a dozen ways I could fuck you on it though that would probably make me like it a lot more," Stiles admitted. 

“I like that idea.” Derek agreed. 

Stiles threaded his fingers through Derek’s hair, tightening them as he pulled back, he exposed Derek’s long, arched neck again because that seemed to really turn him on. Stiles licked a stripe up the side then ran his fingers down the slick, wet skin. “You are so beautiful,” Stiles whispered against his ear. “I love you,” Stiles said before he pressed his lips to Derek’s, mimicking the fierce, possessive way Derek kissed him before. 

Derek moaned into his mouth and thrust his hips against Stiles' needfully. Stiles matched his efforts, moving in tandem until Derek's cheeks and chest were flushed and pink. “Oh, god, Stiles, please don’t stop,” Derek asked quietly. 

“I want you hard as a rock when I fuck you though,” Stiles whispered. Derek let out a sound that landed somewhere between frustration and anticipation. “You have lube here somewhere, don't you?” Stiles asked as he let Derek go and slid off the bed. He walked the short distance to the couch and sat in the middle, spreading himself out over it because it was his now and he could. He watched Derek crawl over the bed and open a drawer, admiring the unadulterated view of Derek's perfect, round ass. He squeezed himself and stroked over the head of his dick just once, b. “I could get off just watching you walk around naked,” Stiles said loudly. He didn't need to worry about being quiet. No one else lived on their floor even, they were totally alone. 

A small, black bottle was deposited in his hand, but Stiles cared more about the delivery boy. He tossed it on the couch cushion and pulled Derek down on top of him. “Just like this,” Stiles instructed, guiding Derek down until he was sitting on Stiles’ thighs heavily. His hands touched Stiles face, neck and shoulders tentatively, like he wasn't quite sure what to do even though they had spent a lot of time touching each other. "You really are sweet, aren't you?" Stiles asked. Derek's hands stopped and he looked up at Stiles, confused by the implication. "I mean that. You're sweet, kind and polite," Stiles grinned. 

"Is that a bad thing?" Derek asked, unsure even though Stiles was clearly complimenting him. 

"No, I like this. I like you just like this," Stiles assured him. He reached over to search for the bottle Derek had brought, intent on giving Derek exactly what they both wanted. He probably applied far too liberally in his excitement, but it couldn't hurt anything but the couch, and Stiles was sort of hoping for that. He stroked Derek slowly bringing him back to the edge before he stopped and slid his slick fingers down the cleft of Derek’s ass, his fingers catching on his tight hole. Stiles pressed and massaged circles into his skin, waiting until the muscle gave a little. He had read enough, watched enough porn, he knew what he was doing. "Does that feel good?" Stiles asked. 

The rough, quiet "yes," Stiles got was all he was going to get. Derek didn't need to say so when the noises he made spoke for themselves. 

Stiles licked and sucked marks into Derek's chest and shoulder, enjoying the pleasant sounds Derek made in response. When he was sure, he pressed down and slipped his fingers into Derek, the soft slide giving way to warm, slick heat. Working his fingers slowly, Derek rocked back into his hand, urging Stiles to go deeper. Derek kissed him urgently, longingly, short, gasping moans caught between them as Stiles worked into him. “You feel so good,” Stiles whispered against his mouth, stroking down Derek’s back as he slipped another finger in and slowly stretched him further. Derek gasped and bucked forward, moaning something that sounded like it felt good. Stiles sunk his fingers as deep as they would go, then slid them in and out slowly, burying his face against Derek’s neck imagining how his dick was going to feel sliding in and out the same way. “I want to feel you. You’re too much, so beautiful,” Stiles said as Derek fucked his fingers mercilessly. 

“Please,” Derek’s breath hitched in his chest as Stiles crooked his fingers, sliding them out slowly. 

Lining himself up carefully against Derek, Stiles waited until he settled himself down slow, letting his body adjust. “Is that what you wanted?” Stiles asked. Derek gave him the barest nod, his skin flushed pink. The color moved up and spread across to his shoulders as he rocked his hips like he was testing the sensations. Stiles pressed into him, keeping his movements slow and careful. The tight ache between his legs pulsed and throbbed. “I want to fuck you hard but I’ll come so fast,” Stiles admitted. 

"No, not too fast," Derek said roughly. 

Derek was hard and red, leaking precome all over them. He wanted it to last. He pulled Derek down and wrapped his arms around his chest. He hooked a hand over the back of Derek's shoulder, holding him in place as he moved slowly, grinding up into him. Derek gasped and moaned, clutching his shoulders tight. Harsh, ragged sounds tore out of Derek as Stiles worked into him at an excruciatingly slow pace. Their hot, wet skin making graphic sounds in the silent loft. “This is what I wanted,” Stiles said, stammering over the words. "It's so much better. You feel so good." 

“Stiles,” Derek breathed out in a whisper against his ear. He was trembling and shaking, holding Stiles' shoulders too tight. He rocked forward suddenly and moaned, thrusting against Stiles as he got off. "Now, please," Derek asked. Following his instinct not the vague, cryptic instructions, Stiles thrust up into him. "Yes," Derek breathed against his cheek. “Harder." 

Stiles might have cursed, but Derek couldn't hear him past the frantic, unhinged sounds he made. Stiles buried himself deep as he came, moaning a little until Derek covered his mouth with his own and kissed him hard, wet and dirty. It was all teeth and tongues and sweat. Better than Stiles had ever imagined. 

"You think you can write about that?" Derek asked after he caught his breath. 

"I could write novels, but I'm not sure I want other people reading it," Stiles grinned, his voice heady and slow.

"I'd read it," Derek said sweetly, pressing his lips to Stiles softly. 


	16. As a Matter of Survival

“I can't go out there,” Boyd whispered, somehow able to face down all the horrors of being a werewolf with stoic grace, but completely undone by thirty people waiting to watch him get married. “I can’t. We should have eloped. These vows are stupid. I’m gonna throw up on her dress. What was I thinking?” Boyd asked no one, especially not Stiles. He was definitely talking to himself, but Stiles was the one who had to respond. 

“I’ll make this easy on you Boyd. If you don't pull your shit together in the next five seconds, I’m gonna go tell Laura,” Stiles threatened. 

“You wouldn’t,” Boyd asked, suddenly wide eyed and paying very close attention to Stiles for the first time since he came into the room to let Boyd know it was almost time to go. 

“Oh, I would, and I’d help her track your ass down. I’m a hardcore feminist now as a simple matter of survival, but it would be a shame to watch you get your ass handed to you by a woman you could use as an armrest.” 

“You’re an asshole,” Boyd said because he could tell how serious Stiles was. 

“Sometimes you have to count on family to make the hard choices for you big guy,” Stiles said as he smoothed Boyd’s tuxedo lapels and pulled up his collar where he kept stretching it out. “Also, I know for a fact the second you see Erica you won't give a fuck about anything else. It’ll be all about her and you’ll actually enjoy yourself,” he promised. 

“You think so?” Boyd asked hopefully. 

“I know so. I am wise beyond my years.” 

“Sometimes," Boyd admitted, somewhat skeptically.” 

Stiles didn't expect the compliment. Before he could say thank you Boyd slipped out the door. Stiles almost panicked, but he realized the music had started. Boyd was queuing up to walk to the altar, so he followed. Stiles lined up to walk with Derek down the aisle behind Scott and Allison. Laura and Jackson followed behind them. It was impossible to split them up by loyalties. Stiles suspected he ended up Boyd’s best man by a coin flip or maybe an aggressive game of rock paper scissors. Laura tugged on his shoulder and he turned to hug her, telling her how beautiful she was. She pointed to a tall blonde guy and smiled. Stiles sized up the deputy, surprised he'd never noticed Parrish before, but pleased by how fixated he seemed to be on Laura. 

It surprised him when she said she was coming to the wedding with a date. Stiles didn't think Laura actually dated, or dated guys for that matter, but she seemed to actually like Deputy Parrish, and he certainly liked her. It disturbed him that his dad had set them up, but he decided to meddling in their relationship. They both tended to piss him off when they started talking to each other. They had wild ideas about authority Stiles figured it was best to stay far away from because he was never going to really understand where either of them were coming from. 

As he lined up behind Boyd, Scott punched his arm playfully, then high fived Laura as she took her place next to Stiles. She whispered to Scott, telling him to calm down while they were in front of the crowd, but Scott snorted in response and Laura laughed, ruining any authority she imagined she had over him. By contrast, Allison, Derek, and Jackson stood quietly on the other side of the altar, waiting for Erica patiently. One of the wolves howled, a long low mournful sound when the wedding march started. Stiles cringed at the irony, but Erica smiled as she came around the corner with Chris. Grinning like she was delighted at the recognition. It was more likely the wolves didn't like the amplified bass from the speakers, or they liked it too much. When the second and third wolf chimed in, he recalled saying it was a bad idea to use the field next to the sanctuary for the party, but Erica had insisted it was all she wanted in the whole world. 

“Quiet!” Laura hissed loudly, startling a few of the guests. 

The wolves stopped immediately. Laura turned to Stiles and smiled sweetly, trying to play off the interaction like it was a joke. The only person laughing was Allison, then Scott, but only because Allison was trying to stifle her laugh and Scott thought it was cute. Thankfully, Allison stopped when Erica started walking down the aisle. Stiles imagined it was a little more personal for Allison, seeing Chris walk with Erica. She stopped at the end and gave Allison a hug, letting her fuss over her hair and flowers a little before she turned to the altar. Chris wasn't giving her away, Erica was clear about that when she proposed the idea. She said he was her insurance against changing her mind at the last minute and running off. It made Chris laugh, but he wasn't laughing now. Chris kissed her cheek and sat down next to Victoria, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. The whole thing was sickeningly sweet, enough to make Allison sob outright, but Derek was quick to hand her his handkerchief. 

The last minute changes almost ruined Erica, but after the patronizing, grizzly old man that called himself the Justice of the Peace showed up to their meeting drunk, Jackson volunteered Lydia’s mom as officiate. As Natalie Martin spoke clear, beautiful, encouraging words, specifically tailored for Erica and Boyd, Stiles smiled, thankful Erica had agreed. Natalie gave Boyd the floor first to recite his vows. All his nervousness was gone like Stiles promised. Erica couldn't wait for Natalie to give her the go ahead. She made everyone laugh as she apologized to Natalie for interrupting her. Stiles noticed Erica’s hands shaking as she slipped the ring on Boyd’s finger, but forgot about it as soon as Derek caught his eye. 

He stood behind Allison, tall and perfect, with his shiny hair and expertly trimmed stubble. He was always handsome, but at that moment he was devastating. Stiles tuned everyone else out, watching Derek as he listened to Erica speak. Derek was so transfixed by the words and the ceremony he didn't notice he was being watched, but that was fine, it was perfect. Stiles rarely had a chance to see Derek when he wasn't aware of being observed. His eyes went glassy, filling with tears as he reacted with raw, unfiltered emotion. Stiles tuned in to the words, listening to what moved Derek so profoundly. Erica talked about new hope, family, and future. Things that were incredibly important to both Boyd and Erica. 

If Erica had her way there would be babies soon, lots of them. The reality of it hit Stiles like a sledge hammer. Tiny, screaming, stinky, adorable babies. It was almost enough to drag his attention away from the long shiny trails scorching their way down Derek’s cheeks. Stiles had a lot to live up to, maybe a big future Derek hadn't even started talking about. He was thankful he would get a front row view from Boyd and Erica first. It wasn't long ago neither he or Derek felt like they even had a future. They didn't want one, but now the possibilities were endless, and a little too real sometimes. It helped remembering the stories his mom told him about how much she wanted him. How she thought they had to work to hard and wait too long to conceive him, if anyone could call that hard work. Stiles was planned and wanted by his mom when she was the same age as he was. She married a man years older than her because that was the kind of life they both wanted. Although it took his dad until he was almost thirty to figure that out. 

A quiet, domestic life wasn't exactly what Stiles wanted, not yet, but he could feel it coming. He wanted art and freedom for a while longer, but all of it loomed in his future like a promise he couldn't wait to reach out and grab once he was more sure of himself. Watching Derek wipe his face, unashamed of how moved he was, made Stiles proud. He waited impatiently as Natalie finished, smiling over at Derek as Boyd led Erica away, allowing him to finally get his hands on Derek. He stopped the procession to kiss him, quickly but passionately. 

“Go!” Laura whispered, pushing at his shoulder. Stiles turned and glared at her, then Derek kissed him again. It was almost an act of defiance, if it wasn't so sweet. "I swear to god Derek, everyone is watching you and--" 

"And you love us?" Stiles asked. Jackson choked out a laugh, his eyebrows raised like he was surprised Stiles was breaking the rules. He shoved Derek at the same time Laura pushed his shoulder again, forcing him to take a step forward. "They love us," Stiles stated resolutely. 

"With all my heart," Laura said sarcastically, but she wasn't lying. 

**Author's Note:**

> Descriptions of disease and disability that might be triggering to some.


End file.
